#my table and just. scribble. and brainstormed this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hivemuthur · 1 month ago

Note

Hello, I am here to be freaky and gross, buuut... since we had Viktor keeping reader's underwear... what if we had reader keep something of Viktor's? Like a garment or a pen... perhaps using it for comfort and... other activities... (you know what I mean.)

And of course Viktor finds out one way or another and things get even freakier.

Hi Anon! Reader keeping something of Viktor's? ✅ Using it for... something? ✅ Viktor finding out and things get freakier? ✅ Here's your fic!

I Think That He Knows

viktorxfem!reader explicit! freaky Reader, but Viktor keeps up. Some disgusting yearning, mutual pining, scent kink, clothing theft, a little bit of soft-dom Viktor, grinding, underwear smelling :v I've set this during the last year of uni.

word count: 4K

author’s note: Okay, in an unexpected turn of events we have a sniffer Reader, sexting will come though, I promise! I dedicate this to @crimsonlegend, the official president of cravat appreciation club :v This was brainstormed with @rennethen, my beloved wife! I would bathe in this man's sweat and I'm not even exaggerating.

—

Eyelids heavy enough that no match could keep them open, you sink into the chair, chin cradled in your hand as your gaze idly follows the movement of Viktor’s pen through the tight crack of light. The hour is late enough that the library should have emptied, yet neither of you moves to leave.

It’s a constant battle of wits—tonight’s opponents: your endurance versus the unbearable longing. An ouroboros of torment, where the more endurance you have, the better you can perform restraint—but once it slips and gives way to that slow, dreamy state of mind, the longing overtakes, unguarded. Soon, your eyes slip—up, up his hand to his elbow, tracing the line of his arm, all the way to the ultimate bane of your existence: his neck.

Your absolute woe—the space on Viktor’s body seemingly crafted for your whiffling nose, or your lips, or perhaps even your fingers, if you dared be so bold. His cravat is loosened. The collar of his shirt gapes at the throat. You can see the little notch where his neck meets his shoulder. The tendons shift when he swallows. His pulse flutters visibly under pale skin, and your eyes—traitorous things—keep returning to it.

He stays focused, scribbling something in the margin of a notebook, lips pursed, jaw working as he thinks. All the while, you are being siren-called by that sliver of skin. The curl at his nape is slightly damp. A wisp clings to him, more memory than hair.

You almost gasp when his fingers creep into the periphery of your vision—curling around the knot and pulling, unspooling the fabric. His collar gapes further. You’re nearly cross-eyed trying not to look. His voice comes soft, distracted, like steam easing from a kettle:

“I think I’m missing something… are you still with me?”

“Huh?” You jerk upright a little too fast, the sound catching in your throat. Heat flares up your neck as you scramble to recover. “Yes, yes. Just… tired.”

He hums, unconvinced but not unkind. Rolling the cravat in his hands, he flattens it with absent fingers before placing it neatly on the table between you. “Will you endure a little bit longer, or would you like to wrap up?”

“I will do my best.”

“Alright then.” He pushes himself up from the chair, movements careful. The rustle of paper and creak of wood. He pauses to stretch—his shirt pulling just enough to make your eyes follow—and then gestures vaguely over his shoulder as he turns. “Give me a minute.”

You stay frozen. A statue of want, carved from hunger and too many nights of watching that cravat loosen thread by thread. His absence leaves the table hollow. The shape of him lingers, ghost-heavy.

Your gaze trails after him, stalking the shift of his shoulders until the shelves consume him. He turns into the mechanical engineering section and vanishes behind cracked leather spines and oil-scented paper. The click of his cane follows—a metronome ticking down the seconds of your resolve.

This is the real trial. Not exams. Not thesis deadlines or sleepless nights with textbooks and too-little coffee. No—this. The simple distance of a metre and the war of what’s yours to want and what’s not yours to take.

Your fingers twitch in your lap, then still. Again, they twitch. Then rise—hesitating over the cloth like it’s a wound that bleeds heat and memory. The cravat lies there, spent and spiralled, soft silk. It smells like him, you know it does. Like soap and starched linen and something warm beneath it all—him. His skin. His neck.

You imagine pressing your face into it. Just once. Just once. Just for a second, a breath, to inhale and be full of him.

You imagine more. The cloth curled in your fist under covers. You imagine sighing into it, open-mouthed and shameless, tongue thick with the ghost of him, hips rolling to the memory of his voice in your ear saying your name.

The cane clicks again—closer now and time snaps tight around you. Without another thought, you move—one decisive sweep. The garment disappears into your bag and your hand falls flat on top of it. Palm burning, heart frantic.

When he returns, he finds you exactly where he left you—almost.

The rest of the evening blurs—notes skimmed, pages turned without reading, the crackle of a candle nearing its stub the only measure of time. Viktor offers you a few more questions, a few more thoughts, but even those seem fainter, abstract, like echoes bouncing off stone. Finally, after one too many silences and a glance that lingers too long on your face, he exhales and concedes. “I suppose it’s late. Let’s get back?”

You nod, heart clanging like a bell in your chest. Is he truly tired, or has he noticed something? Are your cheeks so hot he can feel it radiating from you like nuclear fallout?

The two of you walk in tandem through the dim corridors, footsteps soft and wordless, until the path forks between dormitories. He gives a nod, a small smile, and vanishes around the corner.

As soon as he’s out of sight, your pace doubles. You shoulder the door to your room open, hand already plunging into your bag, rifling down until your fingers brush fabric. It’s there. Still warm. Still real.

Too late for regrets. The door clicks shut behind you. You lean against it, breath hissing from your lungs in one long, trembling sigh.

The cravat comes out soft between your fingers, its fabric catching faint on your skin. You bring it up slowly, hesitant but past saving. It smells—oh, it smells like Viktor. Like clean skin and warmth, the base note of him after hours, worn into the fabric. You press your nose into it, mouth open, breath ragged, and draw the scent in deep. Indulgent. Shameless. Almost a relief, this closeness, like you’ve peeled the ache from your ribs and pressed it into your palms.

Your thighs shift. Heat pulses low and heavy. One hand remains clutched in the silk, the other—well, it moves without orders. Trails down the slope of your stomach, dips between your legs. The contact is electric, almost too much at once, overwhelming. You lean back against the door, knees soft, head tilted. The moan tears itself from your throat without warning, his name catching on it like a hook. “Viktor.”

And that’s when it happens. The knock—sharp, unmistakable—lands like a stone on water.

You jolt, tear your hand away, nearly drop the evidence of your crime of passion. As if burned. As if caught. As if the door is suddenly too thin to contain the guilt blooming in your chest.

Ruling out the impossible you shove the cravat down your vest pocket, clumsy, almost uncaring, though you care greatly. Wipe your forehead, your mouth. One deep breath. You creak the door open.

The impossible stares you in the face. Viktor stands there, hand hung in mid-air, as if about to knock again. He is flushed. Not winded—flushed. Lips parted, eyes sharp with something that has no place in polite friendship. Cheeks dusted pink like the ink spill of an unread letter. He sees you.

And your face, gods, your face—you feel the heat claw up your skin like it’s trying to drag you down. Because he knows. Somehow, he knows.

"Forgive the late hour," he begins, voice rough, not quite steady. "But have you seen—"

Then he stops. His gaze dips. There, traitorous and proud, a white tongue of silk peeks from your vest pocket like it was never meant to hide. Viktor’s eyes glaze over. He takes one step forward, measured. Then, oh—reaches.

You flinch, try to cover your face, fingers fumbling for shame. But he is faster. Cane propped aside, his hand swallows your wrist, gentle but unwavering, and peels you open like folded paper. He plucks your right hand from your face, not missing a beat. You brace for a reckoning. An autopsy of your sins right here, at the threshold of your room.

But he has mercy—he steps inside and swings the door shut with a quiet kick. Then he lifts your hand to his face—and inhales. A low sound slips from him, all breath and gravity, like it costs him something. His lashes flutter shut.

“I heard you,” he whispers, tracing your fingers with his lips, and you wince—try to flinch away, but he won’t let you. “But I didn’t think it possible.”

He stands so close now you can feel the shift of his breath. One hand holds the forsaken cravat, already creased and warm from your grip. The other still wraps around your palm—evidence of everything you were doing just seconds before he knocked. He lifts the fabric slowly, brushing it along your cheek. You lean into it without meaning to, a quiet sigh escaping as your eyes flutter closed.

“W-what?” you whisper.

“Do you like me?” he asks then, soft but direct, as if the answer will change something vital in him.

You open your eyes, startled. “Viktor—”

“Don’t be ashamed,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his voice low and coaxing. “I like you. But I could never figure it out. You’re so private.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles.

You laugh, dry and breathy. “Oh, that’s because I’ve been working very hard for you not to notice.”

“Why?” he breathes. His brow knits, vulnerable in a way that’s rare for him, and utterly real. “I like you too.”

You hesitate, heart thudding. “Well, we’re friends. Have been for five years. It’s not something you throw away on a whim.”

He lifts the cravat, trails it down the line of your jaw like a ribbon threading through skin, voice quieting. “Where is the whim in here?” he whispers, and finally—he brushes his nose against yours. An inch left. Maybe less.

He leans in—and you panic, not out of doubt, but because of the sheer weight of this moment, this nearness you’ve longed for so painfully. One hand shoots up and covers his mouth.

“Are you sure?” you whisper, eyes wide, your palm trembling against his lips.

Viktor’s gaze softens. He doesn’t answer at first. Instead, he reaches up, gently takes your hand from his face, and brings it to rest against his neck—right there, at the hollow you’ve obsessed over in silence. His skin is warm, his pulse skipping hard under your fingers.

Then he gives it another try and this time there is no barrier. It’s slow lips at first—startled, searching. But it catches like flame to dry grass, all dry mouths and barely restrained hunger. You breathe through your noses, his hand rising to cup the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. His lips press and pull, not sloppy, but wanting. The kind of kiss that knows it will be followed by more. The kind that curls your toes and sends your thoughts skittering from your head like marbles spilled on a floor.

You sigh into him. His arm wraps around your waist and pulls you closer, until your bodies meet fully, chest to chest, heat and want shared through nothing more than breath and fabric and need.

When you part, it’s only because you have to. Both of you gasping, mouths red, eyes glassy. “Do you like me?” he asks again, quieter now. Barely more than a whisper. And it just snaps.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes. gods, yes—I like you.” The words tumble out as your hands clutch his shirt, tugging him back in. You pepper his face with kisses—his cheeks, his jaw, his mouth again. “And you smell so nice,” you add, laughing wetly, a little breathless.

His answering laugh is quiet, and full of something so tender it makes your knees weak. “You smell nice too,” he murmurs, voice husky with heat and something else—relief, maybe. Or disbelief that this is real.

You don’t make it to the bed, neither of you suggests it. Your mouths mould together again somewhere between the doorway and the reading chair by the window, knocking into each other with the gracelessness of hunger. Kisses stretch long and deep, tongues pulling sighs loose and slackening your limbs. Hands fumble at shirt hems, tugging clumsily, not knowing when to part, unwilling to. You trip together, Viktor stumbling slightly as you both move, and you press your mouths hard to stifle the laugh.

And then—there. That holy place. You find it, finally. The space between his shoulder and throat, right where skin softens and heat pools and scent gathers, strong and damp and him. You nose in with a ragged breath, lips parted, tongue brushing salt. A tremor shudders through him and his arms tighten around your waist.

He peels your shirt up and over your head. You return the favour, dragging fabric over his arms, slow so you can watch the flex, the planes of him bared inch by inch. His skin is flushed pink, his chest dusted faintly with hair. His mouth finds your neck in kind, and when he sucks there, teeth scraping just enough, your spine arches like it’s seeking higher ground.

Your hands drift south, undoing the button of his trousers with ungodly urgency. But he pulls back, breath catching, one finger lifting. “This first,” he murmurs, glancing toward his leg.

You freeze, chest hitching, face blooming with heat. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t be.” He smiles, quiet and sure, and bends to unbuckle the brace. It drops to the floor with a dull clink of metal and leather, and he steps out of it, free, all yours.

After that, it’s a shared undressing, wordless. Fingers hooked into waistbands, trousers pushed down thighs, underwear peeled away like sunburnt skin, like secrets.

When you both stand bare, the moment stills—his cock rests flushed against his thigh, undeniably lovely. Reddish and full, curved slightly, veined with that same lattice of want you’ve traced in his throat, his hands, the backs of his knees.

Your fingers follow the sharp cut of his hips—those v-lines taut with restraint—and he groans, low and sharp, when your hands reach back and cup his ass. Clothes scatter underfoot, forgotten, as he lowers into the chair and pulls you into his lap, one hand guiding you with a desperate grace.

With thighs spread to straddle him, knees bracketing his hips, you’re both breathless already, mouths swollen from kissing, your hands tangled in the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. Viktor sits back, spine curved into the hollow of the chair, eyes half-lidded and dark, so dark you wonder how you’ve ever looked away from him.

When your centre settles against his, it’s not quite contact. Just the barest brush—heat meeting heat, wet meeting hard flesh. His cock flexes beneath you, the slick of your lust catching on the head as it nudges forward, cradled against the seam of you.

The chair creaks, and your breath shakes. You rock once, slow. Not even pressure—just presence. The glancing slide of him through your lips, not entering yet. And the sensation is so maddening it borders holy. A private heat, the flushed ache of your cunt meeting his cock like they’ve been aching for it across lifetimes.

Viktor’s hands tighten on your hips, and he groans low. Then, wordlessly, he reaches past you—down to the crumpled heap of his trousers on the floor, fingers searching. You pause, watching him, throat tight with wonder.

When he lifts the pale cloth, it dangles from his hand with a subtle weight—his boxers. “Let’s see,” he says, voice cracked with heat, “if you like how all of me smells.”

He moves slowly, delicately. Draws them up from your shoulder, grazing your collarbone. Trails them up your throat, letting the cloth whisper over your skin. And then he cups your cheek with them, brushing the edge under your nose. And oh—he was right.

It hits you all at once, that scent: Viktor, concentrated. The sharpness of his soap, yes, but buried beneath that something else—warmth, salt, the tang of skin, and beneath it all the soft rot of a body worked hard and yearned for even harder. A hint of sweetness where the fabric kissed the crease of his thigh. You inhale open-mouthed, greedy, shameless.

Your lashes flutter. Head tips back, eyes roll. It is like the cloth itself could render you undone, this second-hand closeness so intimate it borders obscene. A gasping little sound slips out of you—almost a sob for how much you want him.

Viktor watches you with eyes so dark they’ve swallowed the light whole. “Such a filthy girl,” he says, and the phrase drips from his tongue like honey, like he’s discovered a rare fruit he plans to eat with his fingers.

You exhale, laugh breathlessly, unsure if you’re laughing at yourself or at how good it feels to be seen like this. To be held in the soft mouth of his attention and not spat out.

He tucks the cloth beneath your chin, leans in close, and presses his lips to your jaw—open-mouthed, awed.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, knuckles white with want, pinning his hand to your cheek as you press the worn cotton there, breathing him in like you’ll never get enough. Your chest heaves, eyes fluttering open then falling shut again, lashes trembling as the scent floods your skull. Hot, heady, raw. It rolls over you like a fever.

You rock against him slowly, purposely, hips tipping forward in a stuttering rhythm. It’s instinct more than thought—seeking friction, chasing it. The heat of his cock against you, separated by so little, maddens. The slide of skin, the dull pressure, the way your bodies know what to do even as your brain hiccups and stalls.

Viktor groans, strained, hands coming to frame your hips, leaving the holding of his underwear to you. His fingers grip just enough to ground you, thumbs dragging along the jut of your pelvis as he matches your rhythm—helps it. Encourages it. One hand slips around to your lower back, drawing you in tighter with each grind.

His gaze never leaves your face. Watches the haze take you, drink you in—your parted lips, your unfocused eyes, the way your breath snags every time your clit catches on the ridge of him just right. He’s wrecked with it, shaken.

“So pretty,” he rasps, barely audible. “So… gods, what were we doing all this time?”

You whimper something that might be his name. Might be a prayer.

“I should’ve known,” he breathes. “Should’ve followed my nose.”

He leans in then, mouth against your jaw, your cheek, the place behind your ear that makes you shudder. Kisses and breath and heat, all around you, and you keep grinding, brazen, gasping, the fabric still clutched to your face like a reliquary. Your thighs tremble where they frame his, and the heat builds dizzy behind your eyes.

Your arms wind around his neck, fingertips finding purchase in the damp curls at his nape. You drag your mouth open along the column of his throat, just above his pulse, your breath steaming where it lands. “You smell like life itself,” you murmur, devoted, drunk on him. “I love it.” A kiss to the hollow below his ear. “Gods, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Viktor makes a sound—half-choked, half-swallowed. His hips shift beneath you, cock sliding slick through your slit, caught and cradled by your wet heat. He doesn’t push in, no need or no time. The drag of him, hot and heavy against your cunt, is enough to make your thighs quake. Enough to make you keen into his mouth when he kisses you again.

You feel full. Not inside—no breach—but everywhere else. Full of him, of his heat, of his scent. Of the warm, persistent weight of him gliding slow against you with every movement, every breath. His chest pressed to yours, heartbeat thundering where your ribs touch. His breath ragged in your mouth. He’s in your blood now, everywhere, omnipresent.

His hands cradle the back of your neck, thumbs stroking up into your hairline. “Closer,” he mutters, hoarse, voice buried in your skin. “Closer—” as if he doesn’t realise you’re already pressed heart to heart, stomach to stomach, slick joining you where you grind, slow and soaking.

Your bodies melt together, no seam between them. Sweat pearls at your temples and runs down the line of his spine where your fingers trace him blindly. The soft sounds of it—flesh, breath, mouth—fill the room in waves, each crest heavier than the last.

You feel the twitch of him—urgent and uncontrolled—where his cock slides along, dragged by the rhythm of your hips. His stomach is tight beneath yours, muscles drawn taut like string, trembling between the bars of want. The vein in his neck rises under your mouth as he tips his head back, jaw slack, lips bitten vermillion.

“I can’t,” he gasps softly, “I won’t last—”

“Kiss me,” you whisper, panting against his cheek. “Please.”

Viktor obeys instantly—like it’s the only thing he’s ever longed for. His mouth finds yours, warm and trembling, the taste of him the last spark you needed. It breaks something in you—a breath caught sharp in your throat, a tightening low in your belly—and then the snap.

It overtakes you in a long, flooding wave. Your muscles seize, thighs arresting his hips, spine arching. Your moan is swallowed into his mouth, open and dank, tongues clumsy with the rhythm of your shuddering body.

He gasps when you tighten above him—not inside, not quite—but the friction, the warmth, the slick rush of your release pouring onto him is enough. He moans out your name, his cock twitching helplessly where it’s caught between you. You feel it, hot and sudden, the spill of him striping his belly, thick and wet between you both.

Still, you move. Slow, drawn circles of your hips, chasing every aftershock, dragging your folds through the mess of it until Viktor shudders and groans—“Please,”—high and wrecked, trembling under your weight.

You kiss him through it. Through the bliss, through the overwhelmed whimper. Through his lashes fluttering and the flush climbing to his ears. You kiss him like he’s the only thing keeping you afloat, and he kisses you back like you’re something sacred.

There’s no line anymore between where he ends and you begin—just sweat and sighs and the unbearable sweetness of finally, finally having each other.

You don’t move far. Just shift your weight enough to nuzzle into his jaw, his cheekbone, dragging your face over the slick of his skin. You’re gathering him: his sweat, his scent, the salt-heat of his body, rubbing it into your own like a fevered benediction.

“I want to smell like you always,” you murmur, voice hoarse with truth. “Everywhere. On my skin, in my sheets, under my nails.”

Viktor’s breath catches, soft and stunned.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” you go on, fingers slipping into his hair to pull it back, so you can kiss the line where his jaw meets his throat. “How long I’ve stared. Dreamed. Gods, Viktor. I just—”

“I think I know,” he interrupts gently, one hand rising to cover yours, to press your palm deeper to his chest, right over his thudding heart. “I just wish I knew sooner.” Your eyes close. The confession hums between you, warm and bright, like the filament of a bulb not yet burned out. When you open them again, you’re still in his arms, still tangled in the sweat and spent longing of what used to be wanting—and is now it’s yours.

#my writing #viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #viktor smut #viktor x f!reader #viktor x oc #arcane #arcane fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor nation #requests

375 notes · View notes

berilaksl · 2 months ago

Text

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

notes ! pure fluff, lovestruck! remus x reader and teasing from marauders.

warnings ! none really

Part I — The Library Chronicles

Golden rays filtered through tall, stained-glass windows of the library and stretched across the polished wooden tables and worn spines of ancient books, casting a sleepy calm over the castle’s scholarly heart.

At the far end of one row, James Potter and Sirius Black sat across from each other, quills in hand and faces lit with suspicious mischief as they pored over a stack of books titled “Charms of Illusions and Confounding Tricks” and “Advanced Magical Mishaps: A Guide.”

“I’m telling you, if we combine the Disillusionment Charm with a basic Muggle smoke bomb—” James started.

“—and maybe a hovering charm so the whole corridor looks like a foggy battlefield,” Sirius finished, practically vibrating in his seat.

Across from them, Remus Lupin was attempting to read Defensive Magical Theory, jaw tight and eyebrows pulled together like storm clouds.

“I don’t know why you two thought the library was the best place to brainstorm a full-blown prank,” Remus muttered, eyes flicking from his book to his parchment. “Some of us are trying to be productive.”

“Some of us,” Sirius said, cocking a brow, “are clearly just trying not to look over at the other table across from us again.”

Remus stilled, the tips of his ears reddening.

James smirked, setting his quill down dramatically. “It’s true. You’ve been glancing up every three minutes, mate. Do you want me to lend you my watch so you can time it better?”

“I am not—”

“—pining? Brooding? Suffering in scholarly silence?” Sirius grinned. “Remus, your tragic love story is happening live in the library and we’re the front-row audience.”

Remus groaned, pressing the heel of his palm against his temple. “You two are insufferable.”

Just a few tables down, you sat with Lily Evans and Mary Macdonald, parchment spread out in front of you as the three of you annotated your Transfiguration notes in neat, color-coded harmony. Well—at least you tried to.

Because every few moments, without meaning to, your gaze would flick upward. Always toward the same place. Always toward him.

Remus Lupin.

You weren’t even sure when it started. Perhaps in third year, when he’d helped you pick up a stack of books you’d dropped near the Herbology greenhouses, and you’d shared a laugh that made your cheeks ache. Or maybe it was during that Potions disaster in fifth year when the two of you had been paired together—pure chaos, but still, he’d looked at you like you were made of stars when you finally figured out the antidote.

He was clever, thoughtful, and ridiculously charming in that quietly sarcastic way that made your stomach twist. And Merlin help you—he had that broody, cardigan-wearing, chocolate-and-old-books energy that made your brain go fuzzy.

But he was also stubborn. Withdrawn. Hard to read when it mattered most. And you? You weren’t about to throw yourself at someone who clearly wasn’t going to make a move.

Even if you sort of—kind of—maybe wanted to.

“You’re staring again,” Lily whispered beside you, scribbling something into the margins of her parchment.

You blinked, suddenly caught. “I was not.”

“Darling,” Mary chimed in, barely glancing up, “you were practically burning a hole through his jumper.”

You flushed and tried to focus on your notes, scribbling a little too hard with your quill.

Back at the Marauders’ table, James leaned across to Sirius. “I’m giving him a week.”

“A week?” Sirius laughed. “You’re generous. I say three days before he finally admits he’s hopelessly in love with her.”

“Will you both shut up?” Remus hissed under his breath, flipping a page so aggressively it nearly tore. But then—

He looked up.

And your eyes met.

It was just a second. Two, maybe. But it felt like everything else in the library blurred out, like the quiet rustling of parchment and distant whispers turned into static. Your breath caught. So did his.

And then you blinked, and it was gone.

Remus dropped his gaze like he’d been hit with a Stunning Spell.

James let out a triumphant whistle. “I saw that! Moony, you romantic bastard.”

“I swear, if you say one more word—” Remus warned, but the heat creeping up his neck gave him away.

Across the room, Lily leaned toward you. “You’re really going to make him suffer like this forever, aren’t you?”

You bit back a smile, twirling your quill slowly. “He could talk to me, you know.”

Mary smirked. “So could you.”

You shrugged, lips twitching. “Where’s the fun in that?”

And he was, against all better judgment, completely ruined.

Meanwhile, you had noticed the glances too.

How could you not?

Every time you so much as flicked your gaze toward Remus, he looked away so fast you almost got whiplash. He was terribly bad at hiding it — which, truthfully, only made him more endearing.

You leaned toward Lily, whispering just loud enough for Mary to hear too.

“Think I should go over there and ask him if he’s lost something?”

Lily choked on a laugh, hiding it behind her hand.

Mary smirked.

“Oh, do it. Please. The poor boy’s about one compliment away from fainting.”

You shook your head, smiling into your parchment.

As much as you liked teasing him in your mind, the idea of confronting Remus Lupin — whose clever, tired smiles made your stomach somersault — was frankly terrifying.

Back at the boys’ table, Sirius and James were plotting.

“We need to do something,” Sirius said, stage-whispering. **“At this rate, he’ll pine himself into an early grave.”

James leaned in conspiratorially. “Operation: Push Moony Off The Ledge?”

“Brilliant.”

Remus caught the look exchanged between them and narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Who, us?” Sirius said innocently.

Before Remus could argue, James and Sirius had both loudly and obnoxiously dropped a very heavy tome on Remus’s half of the table, conveniently open to a page titled:

“Twelve Foolproof Ways To Impress The Witch of Your Dreams.”

Remus turned a shade of crimson that would’ve impressed a Weasley.

He slammed the book shut and hissed: “You absolute prats—”

And that was the exact moment he glanced up — and caught you looking at him, amused, eyes sparkling with barely hidden laughter.

He froze.

It was like someone had floored him. Like time slowed.

Your mouth curved into the faintest, teasing smile before you turned back to your friends, whispering something that made Lily snort into her sleeve.

Remus sat there, heart hammering against his ribs, quill forgotten entirely.

“Smooth,” Sirius said, voice vibrating with laughter. “Real smooth, Moony.”

“I hate you,” Remus muttered.

James patted his shoulder sympathetically.

“We’re doing this for your own good, mate. You’re hopeless.”

Meanwhile, across the library, Lily and Mary were also plotting.

“You have to do something,” Lily urged you. **“He looks like he’s going to pass out if you so much as wave at him.”

Mary added, grinning: “At this point, it’s cruelty to leave him hanging.”

You rolled your eyes, though warmth crept into your cheeks.

“Maybe after we finish this essay…”

(You both knew you wouldn’t wait that long.)

Across the library, two separate operations had been launched — each with the sole mission of pushing two stubborn people toward the inevitable.

And neither of you had a chance.

#sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black smut #remus lupin smut #sirius black fluff #marauders x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin #james potter fluff #james potter x reader

152 notes · View notes

nicohii · 1 month ago

Text

(Actor! Sylus x Non-MC Writer! Reader, Actor! Caleb x Non-MC Writer Reader)

Hollywood Series: part one | part two

Actor! Sylus who looks so stiff when you first meet him that it makes you stiff too. The sight is too funny that it makes both Actress! MC and Producer! Zayne snort and giggle.

You turn to Actress! MC, your eyebrows almost disappearing into your hairline as you try to ask her what the hell is so funny.

"I'm sorry, Sylus!" She says in between giggles as she wraps - tries to - wrap her arm around your shoulder and pull you in, "they just get too intimidated by handsome men."

"That's 100% true! I get intimidated, by you, because you know, you're gorgeous. " Your mouth moves before you can even speak and the heat in Actor! Sylus' cheeks grows hotter by the second.

"Thank you, I guess." He murmurs and it amuses Producer! Zayne and Actress! MC practically cries from laughing.

"Oh you two will go a looooong wayyyy"

------

Actor! Sylus, who you realized is as goofy as anyone gets. He likes music, has hobbies of his own (quite expensive ones, frankly) and he's a good conversationalist. It's charming really.

Actor! Sylus who offers his place as a start to brainstorm. His idea is simple: a Bonnie and Clyde type of film, with an explosive plot twist at the end -- one of them is just a figment of the other's mind, and the crime is commited by one person only, but it's not who everyone thinks it is.

He has a vision for it, excerpts scribbled from a black (and kinda worn out) note book. There is a boyish mirth in his eyes as he shows it to you, like the rigid and cold exterior has shed of and he's just too excited to finally share these parts of him.

In the times that you speak to him, he can't help but feel the sides of his mouth hurt when, genuine smiles fall from his lips as you tell him about your ideas that fall perfectly with the fish bones he presented. Hell, you even suggested story boards along with it.

Actor! Sylus who feels the excitement he hasn't had in years. His lounging beside you, in his old college shorts and baggy shorts he's had since high school (his dad accidentally bought two sizes big and decided to keep it) and dialling for pizza as you scribble your ideas on his notebook.

Writer! Reader who looks no better. With a shirt that practically drowns you (Sylus thinks that this suspiciously fits someone he knows but chooses not to speak about it), some soft and plush baggy pants and mismatched socks.

"I've hit a wall... " You tell him, dropping the pen and rubbing your eyes with your fingers. Leaning against the seat of his sofa and extending your legs straight flat in his carpeted floor.

"Well, do you want to have some fun? " He hopes you dont hear the shyness in his voice. (What the fuck? What is he? Seventeen?)

------

Actor! Sylus who sucks at Kitty Cards but is one hell of a champion and swipes the floor clean with your pride at Yu Gi Oh!

Actor! Sylus who definitely has the newest Tekken update in his carefully set up gameroom. Your practically gasp at his Warhammer figures carefully arranged in his oak center table. Your eyes twinkle and jaw oj the floor. Motherfucker had the audacity to be beautiful and have a personality? Well fuck (you, please)

The way you look at it though makes him feel like a boy again and he doesn't know how to deal with it, it's like theres a sudden itch in the back of his neck that he can't stop rubbing. Did the paint always looked chipped like that---

"Sylus... " He gets back on Earth with your hand on his shoulder, you look at him (look up, actually because well, were you always this small?, he thinks) You look at him with determined and fiery eyes, fist raised like you were expressing support, "You , my guy, are a very cool and badass person. "

He takes a breath, don't look at me like that! He looks at you and he feels like a kettle, and before he realizes it, his hands are covering his face. It's hot and he feels so fucking giddy inside that he doesn't know what do with it.

"Are... Are you okay? "

He just gives you a thumbs up.

------

Actor! Caleb who lounges on Producer! Zayne's couch like a lazy ass cat. He stares at the dark haired man, typing in his laptop as Actress! MC makes something in the kitchen.

He keeps refreshing your messages, he gets frustrated and practically tosses his phone just to stare at Zayne again.

"If you want to tell me something just say it. Stop looking at me like you're trying to see the folds of my brain." Zayne closes his laptop and takes off his glasses, leaning on his chair.

Actress! MC who conveniently comes out of the kitchen with two tea cups, placing it in front of him before taking a seat on Zayne's lap.

"He wants to ask about a certain someone and what do you think about them and another certain someone. " There it is again that knowing smirk, WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?????

"Am not." Caleb murmus taking a sip before sitting in a ball, he should've just come to Gideon.

Zayne finishes takes a sip before rubbing MC's knees. Caleb rolls his eyes, it's too cheesy it's making him have diarrhea from looking at these two couple alone.

"I think they are good together. The film will be great. "

"Together????? "

"See, this is what I'm telling you, Caleb. You have this perfect eyesight for flying planes but too fucked up to see obvious things. " MC speaks a little too loud at makes Zayne's hand squeeze her thigh a little harder.

"Oh yeah, cause you're too smart are ya? " Caleb bites back.

"Yeah, I am. Want me to spell it out for you dumb ass?! "

"Honey, I don't think this is something you need to discuss while you're in my lap---"

"YOU LIKE THEM! NO, NO, YOU HAVE FEELINGS FOR THEM! But instead of coming out and just saying it nooooooo, Little Mr. Pilot wants to explore the world, ha-ha-ha cause he's a star and when all is said and done, he can always come home to them and they'll take him back... "

"Honey... " Zayne tries to hold her hand.

"Well guess what motherfucker, I hope they get the man they deserve."

There is a beat of silence. MC's hands on her hips, she was always the fighter among them three. She looks at her with fierce determination, yeah come at me bro.

Caleb darts his look at the exasparated green-eyed man. He looks back at him before rolling his eyes, ah shit here we go.

"You believe in that, Doc? "

Zayne let's out a tired sigh. Before looking back it him with pursed lips. Before slowly nodding.

----

"That was mean." Zayne tells her as MC returns to his lap, nuzzling his head against the side of her neck.

"Which part of it? I mean, I didn't lie. " Her fingers combing though his hair and massaging his scalp as she scrolls through her phone.

"The man they deserve, huh?" His voice muffled by her skin.

"Well, I didn't say who."

#actor! sylus #actor! caleb #actor! lads #caleb x non mc #sylus x non mc reader #Spotify

140 notes · View notes

yukkiji · 24 days ago

Text

not a star but still his favorite

you're not the captain of anything. you're not on magazine covers and billboards. but somehow, the school's golden boy calls you his favorite person—like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

blue lock masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. yukimiya kenyu x fem!reader ft. otoya eita and karasu tabito

genre: fluff, greenflag bf!yukimiya, both otoya and karasu makes an appearance

wc: 2.8k

author’s note: okay, this might have been a bit biased since yukki is my FAVE and i love him so much huhu

lunch break.

the sun hangs lazily above the field, casting long, golden shadows that stretch across the running track and spill onto the freshly mown grass. you settle near the top of the bleachers, the metal bench warmed by the afternoon’s gentle heat. in your lap rests a carefully packed homemade bento box, the faint scent of grilled chicken and pickled vegetables mingling with the warm breeze. chopsticks balance atop the lid, untouched for the moment, as your eyes keep drifting down to the field below.

kenyu yukimiya is still deep in the rhythm of practice, his every movement a study in grace and precision. the way he commands the ball—his footwork crisp and fluid—makes it look effortless, like the field itself bends to his will. sweat beads along his hairline, dampening the tips of his dark locks, but he barely seems aware of it. his focus is absolute, eyes sharp, calculating every pass and sprint.

even through the steady thrum of the practice, you catch him stealing glances in your direction. those quick, subtle looks—always with a faint, private smile tugging at his lips—feel like a secret meant only for you.

near the bleachers, groups of girls gather, phones raised, whispering with a mixture of awe and envy. their hushed voices reach your ears despite your best effort to ignore them.

“yukimiya’s skills are insane.”

“he’s the next big thing—heard he’s shooting for that streetwear brand again.”

“but seriously, why’s he always with her? she’s not even model material.”

“maybe she’s just lucky.”

their words sting more than you’d like to admit, but you don’t let it show. you know your worth. you’re on the honors list, balancing grades and responsibilities, working quietly but with determination. you’re not the star here, but somehow, you belong just as much.

the memory drifts back.

months ago, kenyu was halfway asleep in the quiet sanctuary of the school library. practice had drained him, muscles heavy and eyes drooping as he rested his head on a pile of textbooks. his friends nudged him awake, reminding him of upcoming drills, but as his eyes fluttered open, they caught sight of you. you were sitting a few tables away, surrounded by textbooks and notes, absorbed in your studies with a calm, focused intensity that drew him in without effort.

then came the announcement that sent a ripple through both your classes: a joint project would pair students from his class with those from yours. when kenyu heard your name was his partner, a genuine smile spread across his face—a rare expression of excitement. he looked forward to working with you, not just because of the project but because you had already made an impression on him.

the project itself was demanding. you spent long afternoons together, brainstorming ideas and dividing the workload. you collaborated on presentations, scribbled notes on whiteboards, and debated strategies with quiet laughter and teasing remarks. beneath his confident exterior, kenyu revealed a thoughtful side—patient, attentive, and genuinely interested in what you had to say.

when the presentation was finally over, you decided to treat kenyu to ice cream—a small celebration for all the hard work.

sitting together on a bench under the soft glow of street lamps, the cool sweetness of the ice cream melting on your tongues, there was a comfortable silence between you.

then, suddenly, kenyu’s gaze met yours, a little nervous and unguarded.

“you know…” he began, voice softer than usual. “i think i might be… kind of into you.”

you blinked, your heart skipping a beat as you noticed a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

before you could stop yourself, your own cheeks warmed, matching his rosy hue.

you smiled shyly, feeling the quiet thrill of the moment.

“me too,” you admitted softly.

kenyu’s grin widened, relief and happiness shining in his eyes as he reached out to gently take your hand.

from that moment, kenyu knew it wasn’t trophies or fame that mattered—it was you.

back to the present.

the coach’s sharp whistle slices through the afternoon air, signaling the end of practice. kenyu exhales deeply, his chest rising and falling as the strain of drills finally melts from his limbs. sweat clings to his brow, trailing down the side of his face, but his eyes are already searching—seeking you out like a compass finding its true north.

the moment he spots you on the bleachers, a quiet smile tugs at the corners of his lips. without hesitation, he jogs toward you, the rhythmic sound of his cleats tapping softly against the track like a heartbeat coming home. his uniform is rumpled and damp, the collar askew and sleeves sticking to his skin, but he still looks every bit the boy who stole your heart—graceful even in exhaustion, effortlessly beautiful in a way that makes your heart flutter all over again.

with a soft thud, he drops his duffel beside the bench and slides into the seat next to you, his presence immediately wrapping around you like a warm breeze. the heat of his body, the faint scent of his cologne mingled with sweat, the familiar weight of his gaze—it’s all there.

“hey, my love,” he murmurs, voice low and husky from practice, yet still brimming with affection. the way he says it, like a secret meant only for you, sends your stomach into gentle flips.

you barely have time to respond before he leans in, one hand bracing the bench behind you as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. it’s not rushed. it’s not performative. it’s full of tenderness—the kind that makes your breath hitch and the world around you fade into a soft, hazy blur. the whispers, the jealous glances, the background noise of the field—none of it matters when it’s just you and him in this perfect little moment.

you freeze, heart pounding, cheeks blooming with warmth under the gentle press of his lips.

when he finally pulls back, it’s just enough to look into your eyes. he’s grinning now, a sleepy, proud kind of grin that makes your chest ache in the best way.

“i heard them,” he says softly, voice dancing with mischief and sincerity all at once. “those girls whispering. thought i’d shut it down properly. besides…” his hand lifts to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers trailing against your cheek with featherlight care. “i just wanted to kiss you.”

your flustered expression only seems to delight him more.

you glance away shyly, lips curling into a smile that you can't quite fight off. “only you would be bold enough to steal a kiss right after practice.”

kenyu chuckles, low and warm, and leans in just a little closer, his forehead gently touching yours. “that’s because you’re the only one i want to steal kisses from,” he whispers. “and if i had it my way… i’d do it all day, every day.”

you’re just about to respond, still recovering from the soft flutter of kenyu’s kiss, when—

“oi oi, look at romeo go!”

both your heads snap toward the sound, and there they are—karasu, standing confidently at the bottom of the bleachers with his signature smirk, and otoya, leaning lazily against the railing with all the ease and charm of someone who knows he’s attractive and enjoys every second of it. karasu’s arms are crossed, clearly amused, while otoya’s grin stretches wide, the gleam in his eyes unmistakable.

“well, well,” otoya drawls, his voice teasing and smooth as velvet, “so this is what our ace does after practice. stealing kisses like it’s part of the training regimen?”

you immediately hide behind kenyu’s shoulder, your face turning red as heat rushes to your cheeks. kenyu groans softly, rubbing the back of his neck, but doesn’t let go of your hand. in fact, he tightens his hold, like it’s his silent way of telling you not to worry.

“you two need a hobby,” he mutters, not bothering to hide the amused twitch of his lips.

karasu raises a brow. “don’t blame us for being observant. honestly, all that was missing was a background soundtrack and some cherry blossoms.”

otoya laughs and adds with a playful wink in your direction, “if i knew kenyu had this in him, i’d have started betting on when he’d crack. though… if you ever get bored of mr. soccer star, i do take applications, you know.”

you let out a small, embarrassed laugh, but your eyes are warm. everyone knows otoya’s a bit of a playboy—flirty, charming, and hopelessly dramatic. half the school has probably received a wink or compliment from him at least once.

“otoya, stop scaring her,” kenyu deadpans, though there’s no real annoyance in his voice.

karasu shakes his head with a laugh. “don’t mind him. that’s just otoya being… otoya. he flirts with everyone who breathes.”

“it’s a talent,” otoya says proudly, flipping an imaginary strand of hair.

you finally peek out from behind kenyu’s shoulder, managing a shy smile. “i can tell.”

kenyu leans in a little closer, still protective. “let’s just go. i’m starving.”

“great,” karasu says, stretching. “we were heading to the cafeteria too. let’s all go together.”

and just like that, the four of you fall into an easy rhythm—kenyu carrying your bag with one hand, your fingers still entwined in his other. karasu walks a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, while otoya keeps pace beside him, throwing in occasional jokes and flirty comments that kenyu swats away with practiced ease.

“seriously,” otoya says as the group approaches the cafeteria doors, “you’d think being the star player would make kenyu too cool for this kind of puppy love.”

kenyu rolls his eyes. “i’m cool enough. that’s why i’ve got her and you don’t.”

karasu snorts. “touché.”

you giggle softly, nudging kenyu’s side. “you’re impossible.”

“mm,” he hums, leaning down to kiss the top of your head, “but i’m your impossible.”

the cafeteria doors swing open, and the scent of warm rice and freshly baked bread greets you. the moment may have passed, but the warmth in your chest lingers.

because with kenyu, even something as ordinary as walking to lunch becomes unforgettable.

later, as the sun sinks lower and long amber shadows stretch across the pavement, you and kenyu make your way out of the school gates together. the warm hues of dusk cast a soft glow over everything, making even the mundane shimmer with a touch of magic. you’re juggling your books, your bag, and the now-empty bento box you brought earlier. the weight isn’t too much, but it’s awkward, and your fingers ache just a little from carrying it all day.

despite already having his duffel bag slung over one shoulder and his backpack over the other, kenyu reaches over without a word and gently lifts your bag from your shoulder. he does it like it’s second nature—like carrying your burden is as natural to him as breathing.

“you don’t have to carry all that,” he says softly, his voice still hoarse from practice but rich with affection.

you look up at him, brow slightly furrowed. “you’re tired too. you just finished running for hours. keep yours.”

but he only chuckles, that low, boyish laugh that always makes your stomach flutter. his eyes glint with that teasing light you’ve come to adore. “nice try, but i’m stronger, darling.”

you tug your bag back in protest, more playful than serious, but his grip is steady, firm—not overbearing, just full of quiet insistence.

before you can argue further, he leans down and brushes the softest, most fleeting kiss against your lips. you freeze in surprise, heart skipping, as the touch lingers in the air like a spark.

“shhh,” he whispers, lips curving into a small smile, “no complaints, my love.”

your protest dies on your tongue. you blink up at him, cheeks warming with a heat that has nothing to do with the sun. “guess you win,” you mutter, flustered.

he bumps your shoulder playfully with his. “i always do.”

the two of you stroll down the tree-lined sidewalk toward a nearby street vendor. the familiar scent of crispy batter and sweet syrup floats through the air as the little stand’s string lights flicker on one by one, glowing like fireflies in the twilight. kenyu knows your favorite by heart and insists on buying it, pressing the cool cone gently into your hand before taking his own.

“now,” he says, already nibbling the edge of his scoop, “let’s go somewhere quieter.” together, you head toward the nearby park just down the block. the path is shaded by old trees and scattered with goldenleaves that crunch underfoot. the sun, now dipping behind the buildings, bathes the park in a dreamy orange haze. birds call softly from the branches, and the world feels hushed, like it's holding its breath.

as you both stroll slowly toward the nearby park, the sun’s last golden rays slip away, leaving the sky painted in soft shades of pink and lavender. a gentle breeze rustles the leaves above, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers. kenyu surprises you by buying your favorite ice cream from a small vendor near the park entrance. the cool sweetness is a comforting contrast to the fading warmth of the day.

you find a quiet wooden bench beneath an old lamppost that flickers softly to life, bathing the space in a tender amber glow. the sounds of distant laughter, the soft chirping of crickets, and the rustling of leaves surround you, but in this moment, the world seems to shrink until it’s just the two of you.

kenyu shifts closer and gently lets you rest your head against his shoulder. the heat radiating from him feels like a safe harbor, steady and calming after a long day. you close your eyes, breathing in the subtle mix of his cologne and the fresh evening air. time slows as your heart syncs with his steady rhythm.

your hands rest close together on the bench. without breaking the stillness, kenyu threads his fingers through yours, thumb tenderly tracing soft circles on your skin. his touch speaks volumes—quiet, constant, and full of unspoken promises.

after a few moments, you find the courage to speak, your voice barely above a whisper. “do you remember that night? after our presentation… when we were sitting just like this, eating ice cream, and you finally told me how you felt?”

kenyu smiles, a faint blush warming his cheeks. “i was so nervous. i could barely get the words out, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. but when you smiled at me like that, i felt like maybe everything would be okay.”

you chuckle softly, feeling warmth spread through you at the memory. “i think you blushed more than i did.”

he laughs quietly, then turns his gaze fully to you—eyes deep pools of sincerity. “that night, i realized something i hadn’t before. i’m used to being in the spotlight—on the field, in front of cameras, surrounded by people who expect things from me. but none of that mattered when i was with you. you don’t shine because of lights or applause. you shine because you’re you. the brightest thing in my life.”

your breath catches as his words wrap around your heart. you lean closer, feeling a flutter of vulnerability. “but… why me, kenyu? with all the attention you get, all the fans, the fame… why did you choose me?”

he reaches up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek as if memorizing every detail. “because you see me—really see me—not just the player or the model. you love the person behind the trophies and cameras. you’re kind, smart, and genuine, and that’s something no spotlight could ever fake. honestly… i’m glad you’re not on billboards or in magazines. it means i don’t have to fight for your love with anyone else.”

his voice softens, a low rumble filled with something like awe. “you’re my anchor, my calm in the chaos. my home, darling.”

a tear slips down your cheek, warm and unexpected, and he gently wipes it away with his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours.

you squeeze his hand tighter, feeling your heart swell. “i’m so lucky to have you.”

he pulls you closer, wrapping an arm securely around your shoulders, and leans his head gently against yours. the world fades, leaving only the quiet of the park and the quiet strength of your shared silence.

in that moment, held close and unguarded, every fear, every doubt dissolves. here, in his arms, you find a love that is patient, fierce, and infinitely tender—a love that promises to be the brightest light in your life, no matter what shadows fall.

you might not see yourself as a star, but kenyu never fails to make you feel like his favorite—and to him, that means more than all the spotlights and trophies in the world.

#yukkiji #blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x you #yukimiya kenyu #yukimiya kenyu x reader #yukimiya kenyu x you #blue lock imagines #yukimiya kenyu imagines #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff #yukimiya kenyu fluff

116 notes · View notes

whosscruffylooking · 7 months ago

Text

Open Arms Chapter Four

steve harrington x fem! reader Open Arms Masterlist word count: 6.3k ~1984~

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Later that evening, Steve finds himself pacing the length of his living room, running a hand through his hair for what feels like the hundredth time. The silence of the house is unbearable, filled with his swirling thoughts and unanswered questions. He doesn’t know what to do, and the frustration of it all is starting to feel like too much.

Finally, he grabs his keys and heads out the door. He doesn’t have a plan, but somehow, his feet lead him to Dustin’s house. If there’s anyone who might have an answer—or at least say something that could make sense of this mess—it’s the kid who seems to know way too much about life for his age.

When Dustin opens the door, he’s holding a partially dismantled walkie-talkie and wearing a look of mild confusion. “Steve? What are you doing here? And…why didn’t you drive your car?”

“I need to talk to you,” Steve blurts out, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. He sinks into the nearest chair, his head dropping into his hands. “It’s about Y/N.”

Dustin’s eyes widen, and he immediately shuts the door, tossing the walkie onto a nearby table. “Oh man, this is gonna be good. Spill.”

Steve hesitates, unsure how to even start. “I don’t know what to do. Last night, things… things got intense, and I thought we had this moment, you know? Like, we finally said what we’ve been too scared to say for years. But now she’s pulling back, and I don’t know if I should—” He stops, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I should keep pushing or just… leave it alone.”

Dustin crosses his arms, tilting his head as he considers Steve’s words. “Okay, first of all, what exactly did you say? Because if you half-assed it, that’s on you.”

Steve groans, leaning back against the chair. “I didn’t half-ass it. I told her she’s my whole world. That I couldn’t survive if something happened to her. I meant every word.”

“Okay, cool. So you laid it all out there,” Dustin says, nodding approvingly. “And now she’s avoiding you?”

“Pretty much.”

Dustin shrugs. “She’s probably just freaking out. I mean, think about it, Steve. Last night was crazy. People don’t just process stuff like that overnight. Plus, she’s probably wondering if you meant it or if it was, like, adrenaline talking.”

“I did mean it,” Steve says quickly, his voice firm.

“I know that, and you know that, but does she?” Dustin points out, raising an eyebrow. “You’re gonna have to prove it.”

“How?”

Dustin smirks. “By being the guy she already knows you are. You’ve been in love with her for years, right? So don’t stop now. Show her you meant what you said. Don’t let her run away just because she’s scared.”

Steve leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he takes in Dustin’s words. “And what if I push too hard and just end up making it worse?”

“Steve,” Dustin says, his tone surprisingly serious. “The only way you’re gonna make it worse is if you give up. She’s worth it, right?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. She’s worth it.”

“Then stop overthinking it and just… be there for her. Give her time, but don’t let her forget you meant every word.”

Steve nods slowly, Dustin’s advice sinking in. Maybe the kid’s right. Maybe it’s not about pushing or pulling back—it’s about being steady, being there, and letting her see that his feelings aren’t going anywhere.

“Don’t let her forget I meant every word,” Steve takes a mental note. “Thanks kid.”

“Anytime, big guy,” Dustin replies, grinning. “But, uh, maybe next time, bring snacks. We’ve got brainstorming to do and we’re doing it on an empty stomach.”

The kid pulls out a notebook and begins scribbling ideas into it.

Steve leans back in Dustin’s chair, arms crossed as his mind drifts, until he blurts out, “I wrote her a note once.”

Dustin freezes mid-sentence. “A note?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Back in ninth grade. It was, like, this stupid thing where I wrote down all the stuff I… liked about her.”

Dustin’s pen drops onto the desk, and he swivels around in his chair to face Steve, his expression somewhere between shock and delight. “Hold up. You wrote an actual love note, and you’ve just been sitting on this information? What did it say?”

“I don’t remember,” Steve lies, avoiding Dustin’s eyes.

“Bull,” Dustin says, narrowing his gaze. “You remember every word, don’t you?”

Steve sighs, defeated. “Okay, fine. I remember some of it. But it doesn’t matter because I never gave it to her.”

“You still have it?” Dustin asks, leaning forward like he’s about to discover buried treasure.

“I think so,” Steve mutters. “It’s probably in some box in my closet or something.”

Dustin practically leaps out of his chair. “We’re going to your house. Right now.”

“No way,” Steve says, shaking his head.

“Steve,” Dustin says, crossing his arms and giving him a look that’s far too confident for a 13-year-old. “This note could be the key to unlocking her heart. You’re always telling me to take risks and go after what I want, so why don’t you take your own advice for once?”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine, but only if you agree to stop badgering me about it.”

Dustin smirks. “And?”

“And,” Steve adds, “I’ll help you prepare for the winter formal.”

“Sold!” Dustin says, already grabbing his coat.

They rummage through Steve’s closet for nearly half an hour, tossing aside old yearbooks, basketball trophies, and forgotten sneakers, until Dustin shouts, “Found it!”

He holds up a folded piece of paper, yellowed slightly with age, and waves it triumphantly.

Steve snatches it from him, his face already burning. “Give me that.”

“Absolutely not,” Dustin says, dodging out of reach. “This is a historical document. It belongs in a museum!”

“Dustin, I swear—”

“Relax,” Dustin says, finally unfolding the note. He scans the page, his smirk slowly fading as he reads. “Dude,” he says quietly, glancing up at Steve. “This is… actually kind of sweet. ‘The way you always sticks up for people, even when you’re intimidated.’”

Steve shrugs, avoiding Dustin’s gaze. “Yeah, well…”

“‘Or how you always get mad when I cheat at Monopoly,’” Dustin’s voice softens. “That’s… wow, man.”

Steve shifts uncomfortably. “Can we not make a big deal out of this?”

Dustin keeps reading. “‘The way you bite your lip when you’re thinking too hard.’”

“Okay, now you’re just embarrassing me,” Steve mutters, trying to grab the note again.

But then Dustin freezes, his eyes widening as he reads a particular line. A slow grin spreads across his face. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Steve asks, suddenly nervous.

“‘The dream I had about you in that red bathing suit….” his eyes gleaming with mischief. “What dream, Harrington?”

Steve’s face turns beet red. “Nope. Not happening.”

“Was it romantic? Or… did you have to wake up in the middle of the night to take a shower after?” Dustin teases, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Dustin, I swear, if you—”

“Does she know about this dream?!”

Steve grabs the note and crumples it in his fist. “Forget you ever read that.”

But Dustin is already cackling, doubling over with laughter. “Oh, this is too good. You had a secret ninth-grade fantasy about her, and now you’re still pining after her? Man, you’re pathetic!”

Steve groans, running a hand down his face. “Why do I even talk to you?”

“Because I’m your only hope,” Dustin says, still laughing as he throws an arm over Steve’s shoulder. “Now, let’s go use this note to win her over. Minus the dream part, obviously. Unless you want to make things really interesting.”

Steve sighs, shaking his head but unable to keep the small smile off his face. “I’m so going to regret this.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Steve grips the steering wheel a little tighter, his knuckles turning white as Dustin leans over from the passenger seat with that insufferable grin plastered on his face.

“You realize the more you avoid it, the worse it sounds, right? Like, was this dream so scandalous it could ruin your life?”

Steve groans, rolling his eyes as he pulls up to a stoplight. “No, it wasn’t scandalous. It was… Look, it’s none of your business.”

Dustin leans closer, his grin widening, “Was it one of those superhero moments where she saved you from drowning?” He pauses dramatically, tapping his chin. “Actually, no—let me guess. You were the one saving her…chest compressions, mouth to mouth.”

Steve nearly chokes on his own breath, his hand slamming against the wheel. “Dustin, I swear—”

“Oh my God,” Dustin cuts him off, gasping in mock realization. “Was it one of those dreams? Like, she’s there in slow motion, water dripping off her, and you’re there rubbing tanning oil all over her body?”

“Cut it out, Henderson!” Steve snaps, his ears burning.

Dustin smirks, leaning back in his seat. “Man, you’re so red right now. It must’ve been some dream.”

“You seriously need a hobby.”

“This is my hobby,” Dustin says proudly. “Now, tell me about the dream, or I’ll tell her there’s a dream.”

“You wouldn’t,” Steve says, eyes narrowing as the light turns green. He presses the gas a little harder than necessary.

“Oh, I absolutely would,” Dustin replies, grinning ear to ear. “She’d love to know how much you’ve been thinking about her—dream Steve and all.”

“Fine!” Steve shouts, throwing one hand in the air. “It wasn’t even that bad! It was just… we were at the pool at my house, and she was… laughing, okay? It wasn’t some weird thing. It was just her, and she was happy, and it stuck with me. End of story.”

Dustin blinks at him, unimpressed. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Steve says firmly.

Dustin leans back, letting the silence hang for a moment. “You’re the lamest romantic I’ve ever met.”

Steve sighs in relief. “Thank you.”

“But I’m still going to tell her about it.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The next afternoon, you sit cross-legged on your bed, staring at your phone and chewing on your bottom lip. Inviting Nancy Wheeler over wasn’t exactly something you’d planned on doing in this lifetime. You’d always been friendly enough, sure, but hanging out one-on-one? Never happened. Still, if there’s anyone who might understand what you’re going through, it’s her.

When Nancy arrives, she hesitates in the doorway, tilting her head curiously. “Hey,” she says, giving you a small, cautious smile. “This is… unexpected.”

“I know,” you admit, stepping aside to let her in. “It’s weird, right? Me, asking you over. But I—well, I need some advice. About Steve.”

Her brows shoot up, and she gives a small laugh of surprise. “Steve?”

You nod quickly, leading her to your room. “Yeah, and before you say anything, I know it’s probably strange. I mean, he’s my best friend, so I should probably know how to handle this myself, but…” You flop onto the bed with a groan, running a hand through your hair. “I just—I feel like I need a different perspective. And you probably know him better than anyone else—aside from me, of course.”

Nancy sits at the edge of the bed, folding her hands in her lap as she listens. “Okay,” she says slowly, her tone thoughtful. “What’s going on?”

You exhale sharply, tugging at the hem of your sweater. “The other night, during all the chaos, Steve said some things. Big things. About… how he feels about me.”

Nancy blinks, her expression unreadable as she processes your words. “What kind of things?”

“Like… intense things. Like, ‘You’re my whole world,’ kind of things.” You let out a nervous laugh. “And now I don’t know what to do with it. What if it was just the adrenaline talking? What if he doesn’t really mean it?”

Nancy leans back slightly, tilting her head. “Why would you think he didn’t mean it?”

You shrug helplessly. “Because… it’s Steve. He’s been in love with you before. He’s dated other girls. What if I’m just… another phase? Or worse, what if this ruins everything between us?”

Nancy softens, a small smile forming on her lips. “Steve doesn’t really do phases. Sure, he’s dated other people, but he’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you.”

You blink, her words catching you off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that even when we were together, it was obvious how much you meant to him. He talks about you like you hung the stars, Y/N. And I know you’ve been there for him in ways I never could be.” Nancy pauses, then adds gently, “But this isn’t about me. It’s about you. What do you want to happen?”

You hesitate, your cheeks warming as memories of that night with Steve flash through your mind. You almost tell her—that one time, late at night, when things between you and Steve had finally boiled over. When you’d crossed a line that had been hovering between you for years. But instead of making things clearer, it had only complicated everything. And you’d been the one to say it: We should just stay friends.

You stop yourself before the words can escape and opt for something safer. “One time, we… broached the topic of maybe having feelings for each other. But I was the one who shut it down. I was scared of losing him, and I told him it’d be better if we stayed friends.”

Nancy nods slowly, her gaze thoughtful. “And do you still feel that way?”

Your throat tightens, and you struggle to find the words. “I just… I’ve always loved Steve. Not just as my best friend, but more than that. But I never thought he’d see me that way, you know? And now that he’s said this, I don’t know if I can let myself believe it.”

Nancy offers a small smile, her voice steady. “If Steve said it, he meant it. He doesn’t just throw those words around, especially not with you. But I get why you’re scared. It’s a big leap, and there’s a lot at stake. I guess the question is—do you trust him enough to take that leap?”

You sit in silence for a moment, her words sinking in. Finally, you let out a shaky breath. “I want to trust him. I just don’t want to lose him.”

Nancy stands up, grabbing her bag. “I don’t think you’re going to lose him. But you’re never going to know unless you talk to him. Steve’s stubborn, but he’s also patient. He’ll wait until you’re ready.”

You follow her to the door, her words echoing in your mind. “Thanks, Nancy,” you say quietly. “I needed that.”

She offers you a knowing smile. “Anytime. And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not just his best friend. You’re his person. Don’t forget that.”

Nancy’s words settle into the air, and a pang of guilt twists in your chest. You sit back on your bed, nervously picking at the frayed threads of your sweater.

“Nancy,” you start, your voice quieter than before. “Can I ask you something? And you can be honest, okay?”

She tilts her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Of course.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of what you’re about to say. “Did I… ever make things harder for you and Steve? When you two were together?”

Nancy looks surprised for a moment, but she recovers quickly, shaking her head. “What? No. Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, guilt gnawing at you. “It’s just… he was my best friend, you know? And I guess I always worried that maybe—maybe I got in the way. Like, maybe my relationship with him made things weird or caused tension between you two. Every other girl broke up with him and blamed me.”

Nancy’s expression softens, and she sits down beside you on the bed. “Y/N, listen to me. Whatever issues Steve and I had, they weren’t because of you. It’s on Steve and I. It’s on me. And, honestly… I’ve felt bad about it for a long time.”

You glance at her, your brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Nancy exhales deeply, brushing a hand through her hair as she glances at you, her expression tinged with guilt. “I guess I should just say it,” she starts hesitantly. “Everything that happened at Murray’s last week… it wasn’t exactly planned. But it also wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment thing, either.”

You blink, confused for a moment before realization dawns. “You mean… when you were with Jonathan?”

Nancy nods, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Yeah. I feel awful about it, especially because—well, Steve and I weren’t officially broken up yet. We were in this weird place, like we both knew things were falling apart, but we hadn’t said it out loud. And then…” She pauses, guilt flickering in her eyes. “I said some things I can’t take back.”

You hesitate, “Steve…kind of hinted that you did.”

She sighs, dropping her gaze. “I told him I didn’t love him. Not really. And I was drunk, so I just blurted it out. And after that, I… I slept with Jonathan when we were at Murray’s.”

Her voice is heavy with regret, and for a moment, you’re unsure of how to respond. She looks at you again, her eyes searching yours. “I hate that I hurt Steve like that, but honestly? After everything with Barb and Will last year, I waited. For a whole month, I waited for Jonathan to make a move, to say something, to give me some kind of sign. But he didn’t. And when he didn’t… I went back to Steve.”

You frown slightly, the pieces of their complicated history falling into place. “So, you and Steve…”

Nancy nods. “We weren’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it felt safe. Familiar. Like maybe if I tried hard enough, I could make it work. But deep down, I think I always knew it wasn’t going to last.”

Her words leave you quiet, a strange mix of emotions swirling in your chest. “Do you think he… knows how you felt?”

“I think he does now,” she admits softly. “After everything that happened last week, I think we both finally faced the truth. We weren’t holding onto each other because we were in love. We were holding on because it was easier than letting go.”

Her honesty feels like a weight lifted, and yet it also leaves you with a strange pang of guilt. “Nancy, I never meant to… I don’t know, make things harder for you two.”

She shakes her head quickly. “You didn’t. Trust me, Y/N, you were never the problem. If anything, I think you were part of what kept Steve grounded when everything else was falling apart.”

You open your mouth to argue, but she cuts you off, her tone firm. “Listen. Whatever happened between Steve and me, it was on us. You’ve always been his best friend. And honestly? You were what he needed—what he always needed. Don’t feel guilty about that.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Nancy pulls into the driveway of her house just as she spots Steve’s unmistakable car parked at the curb. She furrows her brow, stepping out of her car as Steve gets out of his.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, crossing her arms.

Steve jerks a thumb toward the passenger side of his car, where Dustin is already halfway out, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Dropping off the little twerp,” he says, his tone teasing.

“Hey!” Dustin protests, shooting a glare at Steve before turning to Nancy. “Don’t let him fool you—he’s practically begging for my advice every time we hang out now.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Get inside, Henderson.”

Dustin smirks but doesn’t argue, heading toward the front door. As he disappears inside, Nancy tilts her head at Steve, her curiosity piqued.

“So,” she says, leaning casually against her car, “what’s really going on?”

Steve shifts uncomfortably, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “What makes you think anything’s going on?”

Nancy raises an eyebrow, giving him a knowing look. “Because I just came from Y/N’s house.”

Steve stiffens, his expression guarded. “Yeah? And?”

“And,” Nancy says slowly, “she’s… confused. But in a good way. If that makes sense.”

Steve lets out a bitter laugh. “Confused. Right. That’s one way to put it.”

Nancy frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she’s the one pulling away,” Steve says, frustration creeping into his voice. “And it’s not the first time, either. Every time things get close—too close—she just… runs. Like I don’t mean enough for her to stay.”

Nancy crosses her arms, her expression softening. “Steve, that’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” he snaps, before immediately sighing and running a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I just… I don’t get it. I put myself out there, and she shuts down. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Nancy steps closer, her tone firm but gentle. “You’re supposed to remember that Y/N’s been through a lot. She’s not pulling away because you don’t mean enough—she’s pulling away because you mean too much, and it terrifies her. You know that.”

Steve leans back against his car, his jaw tightening. “I’m tired of being the one who’s always chasing, Nancy.”

“I get that,” she says softly. “But you’re not exactly easy for her, either. You think it’s been simple for her to figure out where she fits into your life? Especially with… everything that’s happened?”

Steve looks at her, his frustration giving way to something more vulnerable.

Nancy sighs, her voice softening. “Steve, she cares about you. So much. But she’s scared—of hurting you, of getting hurt, of all of it. You’re both trying to protect each other in the most backward ways possible.”

Steve looks down at the pavement, her words sinking in.

“You know her better than anyone,” Nancy continues. “If you really care about her—and I know you do—you’ll be patient. She needs that from you right now, even if she doesn’t know how to say it.”

Steve nods slowly, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “And if she keeps running?”

Nancy smirks faintly. “Then you stop chasing her like some knight in shining armor and just be her friend. Show her you’re not going anywhere. That’s what she really needs.”

Steve exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “You really think I have a shot?”

Nancy nods firmly. “I do. But you’re going to have to stop letting your ego get in the way and start listening to her.”

Steve offers a small smile. “Thanks, Wheeler. You’re not half-bad at this advice thing.”

Nancy chuckles, stepping back toward her car. “Don’t let it go to your head, Harrington. Now, go figure it out.”

Steve watches her head inside before climbing back into his car, her words still echoing in his mind. For the first time in a while, he feels like maybe he has a chance.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Steve stands on the porch, his hand hesitating over the doorbell, unsure if he’s doing the right thing. Every nerve in his body is telling him to turn around, to give you the space you’ve been demanding, but something in him refuses to walk away. Not this time.

He knocks. A soft, quiet sound that somehow feels louder than it should be. He waits, but when the door finally creaks open, he’s not sure what he��s expecting. There you are, your eyes red, face blotchy, but it’s the exhaustion in your expression that hits him hardest. Like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world, and he hasn’t been there to help you with it.

You stare at him for a long beat, silent. Then, your eyes flicker away, and you step aside, almost reluctantly, like you want to pull away but can’t quite make yourself do it.

Steve steps into the dim hallway, pausing for a moment before looking at you again, his voice shaky as he finally speaks. “We’re good,” he says, the words feeling foreign on his tongue now. He calls to mind what he told you the other night, the words that had earned him a response from you that felt so much more promising than this silence between you now.

You look away, a small, almost imperceptible shake of your head. He swallows hard, the rawness of what he’s saying clawing at him. “Look, we don’t have to talk about it, okay?” he mutters, stepping closer, but careful not to push you. “I just need to be with you tonight. Like we used to. Listening to Queen, being there for each other. We’ve been through so much the past few days, so much we haven’t even—”

He cuts himself off, his voice trailing off in the heavy silence that fills the space between you. He wants to say more, wants to explain how terrified he is that he’s losing you, how much he’s been aching in this silence, but the words catch in his chest, too painful to speak aloud.

Your gaze softens for just a second, but it’s fleeting, and when you look at him again, there’s a distance that wasn’t there before. The ache in Steve’s chest grows sharper, but he doesn’t move. He’s here now. He’s not leaving.

With a sigh, you slowly nod, and it’s the smallest of gestures, but it feels like a concession, like you’re letting him in even though you’re not sure you should.

Steve steps past you, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He doesn’t know how this will play out, or what the next day will bring. But tonight, for a few hours, he wants to hold onto the part of you he still knows. Maybe tomorrow he’ll figure out what to do with the mess that’s left between you. But for now, he just wants to be there.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

You lay on the bed, your eyes tracing the familiar cracks in the ceiling as silent tears slip down your face. The weight of everything—the words, the feelings, the confusion—presses down on you in a way you can’t escape. You’re torn between wanting to stay close to Steve, to believe that there’s something real between you, and the fear that maybe all of this is just a result of the chaos surrounding you.

Steve lays next to you, the soft hum of the record player filling the room, but the silence between you is thick and suffocating. Neither of you speaks. Both of you are lost in your thoughts, drowning in the unspoken tension that’s become impossible to ignore.

After a long, painful silence, you reach out, your hand trembling as you pick up a crumpled-up note from the bed beside you. It’s a familiar weight, one that you’d hidden for years, and now it feels like the only thing you can offer him. You hand Steve the crumpled letter. Your fingers linger for a second before letting go, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Read it when you get home, okay?”

Steve hesitates, glancing between the letter and you. “Are you sure?”

You nod, eyes fixed on the ceiling, unable to meet his gaze. “Just… not here. Please.”

He doesn’t push, sensing the fragility of the moment. Instead, he tucks the letter carefully into his jacket pocket and lays back beside you, the weight of unspoken words thick in the air. For the rest of the night, neither of you speaks, the silence both comforting and charged.

When it’s time for him to leave, Steve rises quietly, his steps deliberate and slow. He pauses at the door, glancing back at you one last time, curled up under the covers, your face turned away. He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper—the note he found with Dustin.

Without a word, he places it on your dresser, hidden just enough for you to find it later, and slips out of the room.

As the door clicks shut, you close your eyes, the heaviness of the night settling over you. Little do you know, the words Steve left behind are waiting to change everything.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Steve steps into his darkened house, the familiar silence pressing in around him. Tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter, he pulls the crumpled letter from his pocket and unfolds it carefully, smoothing the creases as if the words might slip away if he isn’t gentle enough.

The handwriting is unmistakably yours—slightly slanted, the ink smudged in places. His chest tightens before he even reads the first word, the weight of what this letter might hold hitting him like a freight train.

Dear Steve,

I’m not sure I should even be writing this. Maybe I won’t even give it to you. Do you remember in the fifth grade when you asked me to marry you? I told you boys were gross and I’d never marry one. Later that night, you climbed the tree outside my window for the first time and knocked on the glass to propose again. You said your mom had told you about Romeo and Juliet, and how Romeo climbed up to her window because he loved her. You promised you’d never stop climbing my window until I said yes because you loved me.

As his eyes scan the page, memories flash through his mind like a reel of film. A small smile tugs at his lips, bittersweet and nostalgic. He does remember. He remembers the way you rolled your eyes at him, how he’s never stopped climbing that tree outside your window and he never will.

A year later, when we were twelve, some kids in our class started talking about kissing, and everyone thought it was gross. So we tried it. We both liked it. A lot. I think that’s because we liked each other.

His breath catches. He’s suddenly back in that moment—young, nervous, and exhilarated. He remembers the way your laughter had bubbled up after, the way you had looked at him like he was the only person in the world.

Here’s where the problem is, Steve—I don’t think I ever stopped liking you.

Steve swallows hard, his fingers gripping the edge of the paper as his heart pounds in his chest. He reads the words again, slower this time, as if savoring them will make them feel less surreal.

I didn’t fully realize it at first. Sure, I’ve had crushes on other boys, but none of them made me feel the way you do. You’re the one I actually enjoy spending time with. When Mom and Dad fight, she always tells me that if I ever get married, I need to marry someone who’s my friend first. She says the key to a happy relationship is falling in love with your best friend. (I still think marriage is kind of gross, and boys are too. You’re just the least gross, I guess.) And, well… you’re my best friend.

Sometimes I think about being an adult with you—no school, just us. We could listen to music and watch movies all day long. We could kiss whenever we wanted to. (I’ve wanted to kiss you again for a while now, but you’ve been kissing Julie from science class, and I don’t want it to feel like I’m kissing her by kissing you.) Honestly, I’d love to just laugh with you for the rest of my life.

A soft, shaky laugh escapes him, but it’s lined with something deeper—regret, maybe, or longing. He presses a hand to his face, trying to process the flood of emotions washing over him.

The letter feels like a window into a version of you he never fully understood, a version that had been hiding in plain sight all along. You had felt this way for so long, and he had been so blind to it, too caught up in his own confusion and fears to notice.

You’re always telling me how much I annoy you because I can never pick a favorite anything. But the truth is, I do have a favorite—and it’s you.

You’re my favorite person. My favorite way to spend a late night at Lover’s Lake. My favorite pair of eyes to get lost in when we’re hiding under the covers, trying not to get caught after you’ve snuck in. My favorite arms to wrap around me. My favorite voice.

You’re all my favorites.

Okay, I’m grossing myself out now, so I’m going to stop writing. But I guess… I hope I fall in love with you. And maybe one day you’ll feel the same. I think I’d like that a lot.

Y/N

As he reads the final lines—You’re my favorite person… You’re all of my favorites—he feels something inside him crack open.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible in the empty room.

He sets the letter down on the counter, staring at it as if it might disappear. A lump rises in his throat, and he swipes at his eyes quickly, irritated at himself for being this emotional.

But he can’t help it. The words you wrote, the vulnerability you had poured into them—it’s everything he’s ever wanted to hear and everything he’s terrified of.

Grabbing the letter, he folds it carefully and tucks it back into his pocket, a newfound determination lighting his eyes.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

You stand in front of the mirror, smoothing out your dress for the winter ball. It feels strange dressing up for an event that’s not even about you—but the kids deserve this, and chaperoning is part of the deal. The fact that Steve might be there too only adds to the weight pressing on your chest.

As you reach for your jewelry box on the dresser, your hand grazes something unfamiliar. You glance down to find a folded piece of notebook paper, tucked just out of sight beneath your hairbrush.

Curious, you pick it up, noticing the boyish scrawl of handwriting on the front. You immediately recognize it. Steve’s.

Your heart stutters. You sit on the edge of your bed, fingers trembling slightly as you unfold the note. The edges are frayed, and the ink is faint in places, as if it’s been folded and tucked away for years.

You start to read:

Y/N,

I don’t know why I’m writing this, but if I don’t, I think I might lose my mind. I can’t say this to you out loud, and maybe I’ll never give this to you, but at least it’s out of my head.

You’re my favorite person. You’re the one I think about when I’m having a bad day, the one who makes me laugh so hard I forget about everything else.

But it’s not just that. It’s so much more. So, I put in here a list I’ve made of all the reasons why you’re my favorite person.

The way you always sticks up for people, even when you’re intimidated. It’s the way you bite your lip when you’re thinking too hard. Or how you always get mad when I cheat at Monopoly, even though you know I’ll never stop doing it. It’s how everything feels easier when you’re around, like nothing can touch me. Don’t even get me started about the dream I had about you in that red bathing suit. You know the one…Yeah. I’m definitely never letting you read this.

Anyways, I think I like you, Y/N. Scratch that—I know I do. I like you in a way that feels way too big for me to handle. But I don’t know if I’ll ever tell you because what if it messes everything up? You’re my best friend, and I’d rather keep you in my life like this than risk losing you completely.

So, yeah. I like you. A lot. And if you ever find this somehow, just know that even if I never say it, it’s how I’ve always felt.

Steve

You lower the note slowly, your vision blurred by the tears pooling in your eyes. The boy Steve was back then—earnest, vulnerable, and so full of quiet, unspoken affection—is written all over these words. And now, looking back, you can see him in the man he is today.

He’s always felt this way.

Your chest tightens as the truth settles over you, undeniable and steady, like the weight of the letter in your hand. This wasn’t adrenaline, or chaos, or the heat of the moment making him say what he did at the Byers’ house. It’s always been there—this love he’s carried for you, just like the note. It was there the day you told him it was best to just stay friends. It was there on every night he’d sneak under your covers or you under his. And it was there in every knowing look from your friends, every teasing question about where you’d both disappeared to when no one else could find you.

Carefully, you fold it back up, your hands trembling as you slip it into your jewelry box like a secret you’re not ready to let go of but need to protect. You glance at the clock, realizing you’re running out of time, but the thought barely registers.

Taking a shaky breath, you brush away the stray tears threatening to streak your makeup. And for the first time in days, there’s no confusion, no doubt. Only the exhilarating, terrifying truth: Steve’s feelings weren’t born in a single moment—they’ve been there for years. Just like yours.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

#steve harrington angst #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #open arms au

98 notes · View notes

sylusonychinus · 3 months ago

Text

Episode 7: Playing with Fire

He was acting completely normal.

Too normal.

It was infuriating.

You sat at your desk, fingers tapping aggressively against the clipboard in front of you as you tried—tried—to focus on the new proposal for the convention booth. But your mind? It wasn’t cooperating.

Zayne had been business as usual all morning, like nothing had happened last night. Like he hadn’t kissed you, touched you, whispered your name in ways that made your legs weak.

Like he hadn’t spent the night buried inside you, drawing out every sound he could from your lips.

But you?

You were losing your mind.

Your pen scratched across the paper in frustration. God, how was he so composed?

“Hey,” one of your coworkers called out. “Are you okay? You’ve been scribbling all over your notes for the past five minutes.”

You blinked, looking down.

Oh.

Your once-organized draft was now a mess of ink and frantic, illegible scribbles.

“Uh…” You forced a laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “Just… brainstorming.”

A doubtful look. “Are you sure? You look like you have a headache.”

A headache?

Yeah, more like an existential crisis.

Before you could respond, the phone on your desk rang.

Dr. Li.

Your stomach dropped.

You cleared your throat before picking up, trying to sound normal. “Hello?”

Zayne’s smooth voice hummed through the receiver. “Have you finalized the new proposal?”

You sat up straighter. “I—I’m still making a few adjustments, but it should be ready soon.”

“Good,” he said. “Bring it to me before 8. I have a team dinner, and I want it reviewed before then.”

Just work. Just normal boss things.

Then his next words made your breath catch.

“Oh, and—” his voice dropped slightly, the tone almost teasing. “You left something in my bathroom.”

Your grip tightened around the phone.

What—

Oh.

Your necklace.

Your throat went dry. “I—”

“I’ll give it back to you when I see you later,” he added, his voice far too amused.

Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

The call ended before you could even respond.

Bastard.

Dinner with the Team

The restaurant was lively, filled with the hum of conversation and clinking glasses.

You sat with the rest of your coworkers, Zayne and Jeremiah seated across the table. They were discussing the convention booth, throwing around ideas, but your mind was still a mess.

You were hyper-aware of Zayne’s presence.

The way his sleeves were rolled up, exposing the veins on his forearms. The way he occasionally swirled the wine in his glass before taking a sip.

The way he would glance at you from time to time—calm, unreadable.

He was enjoying this. Enjoying watching you squirm.

“Hey,” one of your coworkers suddenly spoke up, shifting the conversation. “You and Jeremiah have been friends since college, right?”

You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts.

Jeremiah chuckled. “Yeah, we go way back.”

“Damn, no wonder you two work so well together. Your brains must be in sync or something.”

You smiled slightly. “We did work on a lot of projects together.”

Another coworker leaned in, intrigued. “So, Reader, back in college—did you ever have a boyfriend?”

You froze.

Out of all the questions—

You shook your head. “No, never.”

A surprised reaction rippled through the table. “Seriously? But you were smart and pretty—how did no one scoop you up?”

You laughed awkwardly, trying not to glance at Zayne. “I guess I was just… focused on other things.”

That was when the topic shifted again.

“So, what kind of guy do you think Reader would like?”

Your heart jumped.

You were about to protest, but then—

“I think a woman like Reader,” Zayne spoke up smoothly, finally joining the conversation, “wants a man to seduce her.”

Your stomach dropped.

The air shifted.

Your breath hitched as you stared at him, but he wasn’t looking at you.

Not yet.

He swirled the wine in his glass, calm, composed—too damn collected.

Then he finally turned his gaze toward you, locking eyes in a way that felt deliberate.

Like a challenge.

Your fingers tightened around your fork.

Jeremiah laughed, breaking the tension slightly. “Reader’s a late bloomer.”

More chuckles around the table. The conversation carried on—but you weren’t listening anymore.

It was just you and Zayne.

His gaze on yours.

That damn knowing gaze.

Like he was silently daring you to say something.

The Bathroom Encounter

You needed to breathe.

Excusing yourself from the table, you stepped into the quiet of the restaurant’s restroom, gripping the sink as you stared at yourself in the mirror.

Your cheeks were warm. Your pulse was erratic.

God. He was messing with you.

And you were letting him.

Taking a deep breath, you splashed some cold water onto your face before straightening up. You could do this. You could go back out there and act normal.

But the moment you stepped out of the bathroom—

He was there.

Zayne leaned against the wall just outside, hands in his pockets, his dark eyes locked onto you like he had been waiting.

You froze.

His gaze flickered over you briefly before he pushed off the wall, stepping closer.

Too close.

You could smell his cologne—deep, expensive, intoxicating.

Without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

Your necklace.

He lifted it slightly, letting it dangle between his fingers.

“You forgot this,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched.

He was close enough to touch. Close enough that if you tilted your head just slightly, his lips would brush against your cheek.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “Thanks.”

His lips curled slightly.

But instead of handing it to you—he reached out.

Gently, he brushed your hair aside, exposing your neck.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he clasped the necklace back around your neck—his fingers lingering just a little too long against your skin.

Heat coiled in your stomach.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

The air between you was thick, charged.

His fingers ghosted over the back of your neck before finally retreating.

Then, as if sensing the way your pulse had quickened, he leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against your ear.

“Are you nervous?” he murmured.

You stiffened.

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

His smirk widened slightly.

Then—

The restaurant door swung open.

Someone walked past, completely unaware of the tension-laden moment between you and Zayne.

His smirk didn’t fade.

Instead, he took a slow step back, his dark eyes still locked onto yours—knowing, satisfied.

Like he had won something.

Then, without another word, he walked away.

Leaving you standing there—breathless.

Taglist: @nezuswritingdesk @divxvx @demon-master-zero @mcdepressed290 @syluslittlecrows @seris-the-amious @beaconsxd @wcelmedarling @kaiii07 @sickleddreamer

#zayne x mc #doctor zayne #zayne #zayne x reader #zayne li #lnds zayne #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #l&ds zayne #love and deepspace zayne #lads #zayne lads

41 notes · View notes

mandiemegatron · 9 months ago

Text

𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙃𝙤𝙢𝙚

𝙇𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙒𝙖𝙧 𝙥𝙩. 2

𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 ; 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝, 𝙇𝙖𝙬 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙯𝙮 𝙖𝙨 𝙁𝙐𝘾𝙆, 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩, 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠, 𝙆𝙞𝙙 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙨𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙘𝙚𝙨, 𝙜𝙤𝙧𝙚.

ᴸᵒˢⁱⁿᵍ ᵀʰᵉ ᵂᵃʳ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵒⁿᵉ ʰᵉʳᵉ ♡

A/N: ... yeah. This one hurt. It's rare that my own works make me sob the way this one did, I had to stop at one point and message my beta because it was 😭😭 good god. Just so yall are prepared.

Water anon, this ones for you. You asked for nothing but utter heartbreak and I hope I've delivered.

Thank you all for your patience with this, I'm truly so sorry this took so long but once you read it, you'll understand why. My heart is heavy and now I need to go smoke a fat blunt!

I love yall so much.

“... Eustass…”

Kid shuffles in his sleep as a breathy voice rings out his name. He groans softly to himself before turning in his bed, his arm flopping over his face to shield his closed eyes from the beginning rays of sunshine.

“... Eustass…”

Eustass Kid rises from his deep slumber with a start, his eyes shooting open as a voice that once echoed over the entirety of the Victoria Punk sighs in his ears.

He sits up with a grunt, eyes almost frantically glancing over his empty room, only to take in exactly what he already knew - you were not there.

He glances down to his fleshy fist, frowning deeply as he takes in your now torn and tattered shirt - one he had hand picked out for you a few weeks after you'd joined - and he tosses it aside his pillow before holding his exhausted face in that same hand.

There's a rough knock on his door and he grunted again, though this time louder so the knocker knew he was awake.

Heat peeks through the door as he opens it, head tilted mutely as he takes in his Captain.

“... rough night, man?”

Kid huffs and glares at Heat before throwing his legs over the bed and stretching, his stump shaking slightly at the ferocity of the stretch.

“Could have been better.” Kid murmurs honestly, his voice still rough and low from sleep. He slowly rises from his bed and slips into his patterned pants and throws his billowy shirt over his limb, grimacing to himself as the fabric scrapes against his stump.

If Heat notices, he smartly says nothing to it, only giving a slight nod as Kid finally makes his way out of his room.

They're only a few steps out from Kids room when Heat suddenly speaks up, his tone even though clearly careful in his approach.

“We've… had reports about you know who that-”

Kid stops in his tracks, knowing exactly what Heat was about to say and shuts him up with a ferocious glare, lips pressed into a thin line to show his displeasure. Heat simply sighs and walks past him, shaking his head slightly as he mumbles to himself.

Kid huffs again and immediately turns around, deciding to go right to his workshop instead.

He didn't have an appetite anymore anyways.

As Kid enters his workshop, he immediately begins brainstorming ideas, wanting to bury himself in random work just to occupy the rampant thoughts that plagued his mind. He activates his devil fruit and scrap metal whips past him as he sits down, pulling a few boxes out from under his main wooden table and nearly tossing them up top.

Eustass grumbles and mutters to himself, ignoring the aching in his chest as he stumbles upon a few welded pieces of scrap you had been fiddling with, tossing them into a “destroy” box off to the side without a second thought.

Every few days he comes across something else you'd left behind - one day was a small notebook and pen, filled with scribbles of the crew (but mostly him), a handful of necklaces and bracelets over the next few, and now lately, it had been this.

Six months had already passed and to Eustass, it had been an eternity. Nights flew by where he didn't sleep, taken over by a bitter motivation to finish whatever project he threw himself into, desperate to not fall asleep to see you sleeping beside him in his dreams.

An angry and hurt sigh left Kid as he tossed the first box behind him, ignoring the loud clashing of the metal inside hitting the floor like sharp thunder. More of your little inventions fell out, clearly the cause of his distress.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” he furiously mutters to himself as he sifts through the second box. “You're lettin’ some fuckin’ broad take over your damn thoughts like some-”

“Kid, you alright?”

Kids head whips to the door, glaring darkly at Killer who had popped his head in, a deep set frown hiding behind the mask as he takes in the wrecked room. Killer lets out a low whistle before looking back at Kid with a slightly tilted head.

“... you got a pretty big mess there, man.”

Kid is eerily silent as he turns back to going through the box, deciding not to give Killer a response.

Killer blinks a few times behind the mask before sighing heavily and pushing his way into the workshop. He slides into the chair you used to take up and bluntly bites out,

“Kid, enough is enough.”

Eustass still stays silent.

Killer continues, “You have got to snap out of it. You made a mistake, you paid for it, and now you have to live with the consequences. This childish attitude isn't very Captain like.”

Kid freezes, a silent fury burning up in his stomach, threatening to spill out of his throat.

Killer sits back, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he continues his verbal assault.

“Kid, we looked for her everywhere. Either something happened to her, which is out of our control, or she made her choice not to come out, and if that was the case, then it is what it is. But taking your bullshit out on the crew is un-fucking-acceptable, and it's not going to continue to happen.”

Killer doesn't even have a chance to prepare himself as Kid throws himself at the blonde, shouting threats as he aims a wicked fist at the mask. Killers hand grips Kid's fist right before it smashes the mask, the blonde huffing as he struggles against Kid.

“K-kid! Stop man, what the fuck!”

The two struggle, fists flying and finally Kid's fleshy knuckles meet the mask, cracking it right down the eye. Kid suddenly freezes, blood dripping down his clenched fist and staining the wooden workshop floor beside Killer's head. The two breathe heavily, the adrenaline finally running low as Kid furiously croaks out,

“It's fuckin’ bullshit.”

Killer's heart breaks for Kid as he watches the depression eventually seeps through the anger, finally snuffing out the spark of fury in the Captain.

“I gave her everything’, man,” Kid spills out, sitting back on his calves as he stares past Killers face into the bloodied floor, eyes empty and haunted. “I gave her every fuckin’ piece of me and then tossed her away.”

Killer sits up with a grunt, his hand slightly shaky as he gingerly touches the crack on his mask. While the two fought sometimes, it was rare if not never that Kid had ever snapped at his mask like this. Deciding to put his own ache aside, Killer speaks up,

“This is called ‘your actions have fucking consequences’, Kid. Put yourself in her shoes - how would you have felt if you'd come across her fucking some random dude?”

Kid's nostrils flare with a huff, clearly unimpressed.

Killer gestures broadly at his action with a comment of, “Exactly. You expected her to come home with open arms, ready to sleep in the same bed you just fucked some random woman in?”

Eustass flinches as Killer says “home”, having already forgotten the way that word used to fall from your lips, how you'd loved the ship more than most of the crew. Kid squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus on the pain in his fist as he finally hisses out,

“I get it.”

Killer pulls himself off the floor before he barks back, “Do you? Because it's been months, and you're still sitting here, acting like she didn't have a right to put her foot down. She loved you, man.”

Kid remains kneeled on the floor, his eyes holding an echo of colour as he slowly looks up to his first mate and best friend.

“... I really fucked up, Kil.”

Killer purses his lips together under the mask, giving a soft sigh through his nose before he replies gently, “Yeah Kid, you did.”

Killer holds out a hand for Kid to take, which he does after staring at it blankly for a few moments. When he finally stands, Kid barely gets out,

“... sorry.”

Killer gives Kid a small nod, accepting the apology at face value with a heavy clap on Kid's shoulder. “We're good.”

The two share a moment of silence, their eyes communicating better than any words could say. Killer gives Kid a slight shake before he finally asks,

“You gonna come eat with your crew or you want me to bring you something here?”

Kid shakes his head and honestly replies,

“I gotta get outta here. I'm sitting with my crew, like I should have been doing.”

Pride washes over Killer at seeing his Captain and best friend slowly come back to his senses. “Atta boy, let's go eat some grub, while there's still food left.”

Killer motions for Kid to follow, but the Captain remains in his spot. Killer tilts his head slightly and before he can ask, Kid promises thickly,

“I'm gonna find her, Kil. I'm gonna find her and bring her home, and I'm gonna make it up to her. You'll see.”

Stuck between wanting to support him and wanting to smack the stupid out of him, Killer decides to remain silent, giving Kid only a slight nod before walking out of the workshop.

“Lift it just a bit higher, Y/N!”

You huff to yourself and nearly raise yourself up on your toes to hold the metal plate just a smidgen higher. There's a whoop of delight before the metal is finally welded to the wall. You take a few, slow breaths as your arms begin to ache, sweat dotting your forehead as you call out,

“Eh uh, Shachi, you almost done? This is getting really heavy…”

There's a loud whir from above your head and Shachi calls back, “You're good! Move back!”

You let your arms fall down with a groan and you step back, now able to crane your head up enough to see just how the repairs were going. Ikkaku and Shachi clearly knew what they were doing, the redhead following her orders with absolute ease.

“You alright, Y/N-ya?”

A warm hand meets your shoulder and you turn, grinning up at your now Captain as you reply,

“Hey boss! Yeah, I'm good, just wasn't expecting to be doing this much heavy lifting today.”

Trafalgar Law looks down at you with a slight smirk, head tilted slightly as he asks,

“Is this your way of telling me you didn't expect the random sea-king attack?”

You can't help but snicker at his words, playfully jabbing at his side before joking back, “Ha! My gift of foresight doesn't work underwater, apparently. Forgive me, Captain.”

Law gives a soft tsk as your jab, swatting your hand away gently before he half-jokes, “Unfortunately, there will be no forgiveness today. To the infirmary, YN-ya, there's more mess for you to clean.”

You sigh and roll your eyes playfully before flashing him another grin and waving off your fellow boiler suited friends.

It was a very thin line, the one that you and Law seemed to dance on in the last few weeks. For so long, you'd felt like an unwilling guest on the ship, even with how kind and welcoming the Heart Pirates had been; now you'd felt like perhaps becoming a Heart Pirate yourself was genuinely a blessing.

There was what felt like an unspoken rule between you two. Step close, but never so close enough for it to mean something. Say something sweet, but nothing so sweet as to make you ache. Touch gently, but not so often that it might look too gentle.

As precarious and almost confused as you felt about the situation, you did your best to remain as neutral though genuine as possible while dealing with Law, trying to keep your heart locked up lest another Captain decide to crush it in his hand. That was not an ache you wanted to deal with ever again.

You sighed in slight frustration at seeing the main medicine cabinet open and nearly empty, bottles of pills and vials of whatever Law kept in the cabinet strewn over the entire medical bay, along with papers and file folders from the multi drawer desk beside it. You immediately began to pick things up, having to take a few seconds as you tried to remember where everything went, knowing Law would come in at some point and fix any mistakes.

You were about half-way through when the med bay door opened then shut, the soft click of familiar boots echoing slightly until they stopped just behind you. You gave an exaggerated sigh and glanced up over your shoulder, ignoring the slight burn in your cheeks at how close Law actually was.

He was staring at the open cabinet, his eyes moving over each bottle and vial before you jokingly asked, “See any issues, Captain?”

Law blinks before looking down at you, mirth in his gaze as he jokingly snarks back, “Actually, yes.” He leans over your shoulder, his chest pressed against your shoulder blade as he reaches into the cabinet and moves four bottles around. “The dosage was in the wrong order. Always low to high, you know that.”

You turned back to the bottles and hummed to yourself in agreement, mentally noting to always read the fine print in the future. “You're right, good catch.”

He raises an eyebrow with a hum of his own before moving back and resting against the desk beside the cabinet, his arms crossing over his chest as he comments,

“You seem to be fitting in quite well, it seems.”

You placed a few more bottles inside silently, giving a slight shrug before throwing him a small smile. “I like to think so.”

Law nods minutely, tilting his head a little as he asks, “Did Eustass-ya's crew treat you similarly?” He waits a beat before adding almost gently, “If you're comfortable with sharing, of course.”

Your nose bitterly twitched into a scrunch for not half a second before you genuinely replied in a flat tone, “Yes. They treated me just fine.”

You already know what Law's about to ask so you cut him off with an exhausted, “You ask me about Kid every other fuckin’ week, I don't know why you're so nosey about him.”

Law smirked slightly, giving a laughing huff as he leaned back slightly, taking you in before he replied smoothly, “I'm not nosey, I'm just interested in information about my enemy.” He frowns at you mocking him with your hand, your fingers talking at the same speed as him and he snaps, “Don't be rude. Are you a toddler?”

You stick your tongue out at him before frowning, going back to trying to finish your duty with a little more aggression to your motions. “Don't you have anything better to do than bully me?”

Law can't help but chuckle at you, shaking his head with a playful sigh before he stands straight and walks towards the door. He calls over his shoulder, “Dinner is soon, don't be late, or I'll ground you.” He doesn't flinch when a pen whips past his head and embeds into the metal door, instead he frowns and turns back to you with a sharp, “Oi! Don't put holes in my fucking ship! Don't think I won't toss your ass overboard!”

You roll your eyes and place the last few bottles inside before finally locking up the cabinet and moving onto the papers and files splayed over the floor like a shitty confetti toss. You hear Law grumble and rip the pen out of the door before it gets tossed and rolls just off to the side from you. “Don't fuck anything up, Y/N. If you want to even think about taking a step off this ship to explore the island tomorrow, everything better be a hundred and ten percent perfect.”

Your heart sinks slightly at the bite in his tone, knowing you'd taken a step too far. “Yes, sir.” You muttered before kneeling down and beginning to shuffle through the sheets. Luckily, most file folders were nearly intact, only a few pages missing and close by that you could begin matching them properly. You couldn't stop from flinching when the door slammed shut, your head bowed low in near shame as you silently picked up more papers.

You sighed to yourself as you bit back tears, his last question playing over and over in your head as you began to think about your old crew. Cold nights like tonight, you'd be curled up in Kid's red jacket, your tired eyes lovingly watching him as he fiddles over another small trinket or invention, laughs bubbling up as Kid made butterflies flutter around you, a gentle and adoring look on his face as he looks back at you. You angrily wiped at your face as tears streamed down, trying not to let them fall and stain the white sheets around you.

“You made your choice, you made your choice, you're not allowed to cry about it, you made your choice…” your voice cracked in sorrow as you murmured to yourself, your hands pressing against your eyes to try and stop the onslaught of tears. “You did this to yourself, this is your fault, this is your fault…” Your broken heart shattered a little more as the grief took over.

Unbeknownst to you, Law stood outside the door, having cracked it open slightly after he slammed it, curious if you were going to curse him out but his mind fell silent as he listened to you fall apart and blame yourself. A curiosity filled him as you silently wept, your soft whimpers and sniffles clenching around his heart like a fiery grip.

He stalked off to his office after a few more moments, unable to listen any longer to your tears. His mind raced as he tried to think of reasons why you'd blamed yourself, wondering just how bad Eustass Kid broke you for you to get to this point.

He was determined to find out everything, the curiosity growing almost desperately. Every piece of information you could give him about Kid gave Law a step up in the race to becoming the Pirate King, and he decided then he would rip the information out of you if he had to.

A little smirk washed over Law's lips as he thought about it. He was the Surgeon Of Death, wasn't he? Adding you to the crew's roster was mostly a chance to gain any information on Kid and even though Law felt some form of affection for you, his priorities were in order and you were not one, romantically at least. Not that you had to know.

After all, if you'd lost your loyalty to Kid over a little heartbreak, what's to say you wouldn't do the same to him? Law rationalized with himself over and over, ignoring the slight gnawing in his stomach at the thought of manipulating you, instead hardening his heart over and over while trying to silence his mind.

Sometimes he hated the sheer amount of empathy he felt for you.

“Look.”

Kid glances off to the side of the ship where Killer points, his brow ridge furrowing as he takes in the bright yellow submarine that breaks through the waves. He gives a grunt, rolling his eyes before turning away from the sub to take in his crew.

“You all know what your duties are. Those staying on the ship, keep her safe. Those heading to shore, you've got til sundown to be back.”

He gives a nod toward shore just as the Polar Tang settles into a stop, dropping anchor far enough away that Kid questions if that shitty Trafalgar could see the Victoria Punk from their position.

“What do we do about-” Bubblegum is cut off by Killer, who raises a sharp hand and shakes his head. Bubblegum gives him an understanding nod before heading off the ship with Reck, Hip, and UK following behind.

There's a tense silence between Kid, Killer, and the few remaining Kid pirates on deck. Kid's amber eyes narrow as he watches the Heart pirates slowly come out of the sub, lingering on deck before a handful of them jumped ship and began walking towards the same town. Kid grunts again as he takes in the shape of the Heart’s mink, trailing behind a woman who spoke in an animated fashion, her hands moving as if she were telling a story.

It seemed… familiar.

“Is… is that…?”

Kids entire body tenses as Killer murmurs, shock slowly falling over the deck as Dive suddenly shouts, “That's-!”

Not a second later, Kid is jumping off his ship and is rushing towards the mink, ignoring the almost panicked shouts from his crew as his long legs thump against the gravel. His heart races anxiously, getting closer and closer until he's tackled off to the side, shouting angrily as he hits the ground.

“Kid, stop!”

He snarls and lashes out, only to stop as he takes in Killer's mask, mere inches from his face. “Calm down man, think about this.”

Kid goes to reply when he stops and an all too familiar voice calls out from the surrounding trees,

“K-Kid? Killer?”

Both men pull away from each other and look up, both of them surprised and in shock as you stand there, the bear mink just behind you, looking like a nervous wreck.

“Y/N…”

You turn to Bepo and give him a gentle push, telling him to keep going. “I'll catch up.” Bepo looks unconvinced, crossing his arms over his orange jumpsuit and giving you an anxious look as he somehow gets out, “C-captain wouldn't be happy if I-”

You give the mink a dark look, giving him a slight frown as you repeat yourself, “Go on ahead, I'll catch up.”

Kid and Killer stand slowly, watching between you two before Bepo finally gives in, hating to leave you but also not enjoying the look you were giving him. He glares at the two men before finally turning to walk away, though he walks back towards the sub instead, which makes you frown a little deeper.

You turn back to your ex love and Captain, an ache in your chest that felt like a fiery grip and it took you a good moment to finally speak up, your tone curt and to the point.

“... I'm glad you guys are okay.”

Kid bristles, a snarl on his lips though the pain in his eyes spoke louder.

“Bullshit.”

You flinch at the harshness of Kids words, your eyes downcast for a moment as you bite back,

“It's not.”

Killer decides to step in, mediating the situation by genuinely commenting,

“You're lookin’ good, Y/N.”

There's a small smile on your lips at that though it disappears as quickly as it came. You give a slight shrug before replying back,

“I'm…” You struggle to find the right words. “alive, I suppose.”

You look back to Kid and the look on his face makes you want to disappear into the dirt beneath your feet.

“... you fuckin’ left.”

Your heart lurches at Kid's words, one of your hands unconsciously gripping over your heart as you snapped back sadly, “You fuckin’ cheated.”

Kid at least has the mind to look guilty, his arms crossing over his chest as he huffs out a sigh. “... I fucked up, Y/N.” He stares you down as he bites out, “‘M sorry.”

Fury rose in your chest at his apology, the pain you'd felt for the last over half a year finally rising in your throat as you unleashed all your hurt onto him. “You're sorry? You took some whore into our bed, abandoned me on a random fucking island and you're SORRY?!”

Both men take a slight step back, not expecting the absolute rage bursting from your entire form. Kid sneers slightly, trying not to lose his temper as you continue, “You left me behind! You fucking promised me you'd never leave me behind, and then you did. How am I supposed to forgive you?”

Kid huffs and snarks back, “Like this, ‘I forgive you, let's go home’, that's not so goddamn difficult, is it?” His voice goes a few octaves higher when mimicking you which only infuriates you more.

“That easy, eh?! Just so easy for you to welcome me back and what, I just forget it even happened and that you didn't absolutely destroy my heart?!” You picked up a few rocks and began throwing them at Kid, the redhead having to pull his metal hand up to protect his face from your wicked aim. “You! Left! Me! Behind!”

“Y/N, just listen to him!”

You give a scream of outrage towards Killer and whip a rock at him as well, furious at the way he slices it into dust. “You said you weren't going to make excuses for him, so why are you doing it now?!”

Killer then holds his hands up, palms towards you as he asks sharply, “Just listen! No one is making any excuses!”

You throw one more and he catches it, throwing it back so hard it whizzes past your face, slicing a small cut into your cheek. Tears blind you as you scream back, “What did I do to deserve that?!”

“Nothing, goddamnit!”

You wipe at your eyes when Kid shouts, his body shaking in barely contained anger as he continues, “I fucked up! You didn't do anything wrong, I did. I took advantage of your love and I'm fucking sorry, okay?!”

You throw another rock at him and it hits his goggles, cracking the right eye. He doesn't move, continuing to stare you down as he pours his soul out to you.

“I fucked up, I fucked up by fucking some random bitch and ignoring how that shit would've made you feel, I left you behind because you made your choice to fucking run away instead of knockin’ some fuckin’ sense into me so I thought you just… didn't love me.”

Your tears came back full force, your brows furrowing as a weak sob leaves your lips. You go to retort when he cuts you off with an almost depressed,

“But I can't fuckin’ live without you.”

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your heart from further cracking and falling apart. “Kid…” You start, only to stop as he takes a few, slow steps closer as he continues,

“I can't breathe without you, I can't fuckin’ sleep, I can't wake up another goddamn day without you because you are my everything, you are my treasure.”

You stay put as he steps closer still, only a few feet from you that you could reach out and touch him. You're half tempted to punch him but remain unmoved, simply staring up at him with sad eyes.

“Y/N… babe, please…”

Your eyes widen slightly, unable to ignore the tug your soul gave towards his. He rarely, if ever, said please, especially like the way he did just now. Tears well up in your eyes again as he whispers,

“Please come home.”

In a flash, there's a blue swirl around him and he's teleported back to where he stood before, his ass hitting the ground beside Killer as a shout of confusion leaves him.

“Y/N-ya.”

You freeze, panic settling under your skin as you slowly turn to your now Captain, a cross-armed Bepo not far behind him. You sigh a disappointed “tsk…”, giving Bepo a betrayed look before you reply to your Captain with a blank look.

“Sir.”

Kid and Killer both sneer at Law, furious with how smug the scrawny Captain looked. You flinch slightly as Law lays a heavy hand on your shoulder, staring down at you with a thinly veiled warning in his eyes as he politely demanded,

“I'd rather you go back to the ship-”

Kid immediately cuts Law off with a shout of,

“She's comin’ back home, you stupid brick for brains! You-”

Law smirks and summons a room with one hand, the other still tightly gripping your shoulder and you wince, turning in his grasp as best you can to place your hands on Law's chest, giving a slight push as you beg,

“Let them go! Stop it, stop it!”

Law looks back down to you, something unreadable in his gray eyes as you plead for his mercy. “Y/N-ya…”

“Law, please...”

Killer frowns behind his mask, wondering if he was just seeing things or if maybe there was something between you and the Heart Pirate Captain. The way Law looked at you was eerily similar to the way both him and Kid would look at you, like you were an immeasurable treasure, and it infuriated him.

“Y/N.”

You turn back to Kid, eyes watering as you nearly sobbed out, “Please, just go…”

Kid shakes his head with a deep frown on his lips, getting into a fighting position and activating his magnesis, metal hand out towards you as he barks out,

“You're coming home, babe. This little twig ain't gonna stop me from bringin’ you back where you belong.”

“Room!”

At that, Law's hand moves to wrap around your waist and the room activates, surrounding you, him and Bepo in a shroud of blue. “Law, stop! No, please!” Law only tugs you closer, ignoring your half-hearted fists thumping against his tattooed chest.

You feel a familiar tug in the middle of your chest, the feeling causing you to glance down and it's then you remember putting your old harness on this morning under your boiler suit. A wicked grin comes across your face and with every inch of strength you can muster, you shove Law away and shout out,

“Kid, now!”

In a flash, you fly backwards just as Law's hand reaches out to snatch you back, his fingertips just grazing the front of your suit. There was a hint of fear in his eyes as you flew back, though it disintegrates into fury as your back slams into Kid's chest.

A thick, flesh arm wraps around you and there's an overwhelming sense of joy that rushes through you as Kid gruffly promises you, “I got you, babe. I got you.”

Metal hand still outstretched and Killers blades spinning furiously in defense in case Law tried something, the Kid Pirates slowly moved back, making sure to be aware of their surroundings as they stepped away.

“Y/N-ya. I'm disappointed.”

You cling to Kid's arm, glaring back at Law as he speaks.

“I saved your life, and this is how you repay me?” There's a crazed look in Law's eyes as he steps forward, ignoring the warning snarl that Kid gives him as he holds you close. “I took you in, gave you a home, held your hand when you cried and this… this is how you repay all my kindness…?”

You're quick to bite back, “I didn't ASK for you to save me, or help me, or hold my hand, you did that because YOU wanted to! Don’t act like you didn't use me as a fucking pawn!”

Law's head tilts down slightly, the brim of his spotted hat covering his eyes in darkness as he gives an almost exaggerated sigh. He then summons a small room, a soft “Shambles,” leaving his lips and fear grips you as you take in the sight of a heart in one of those strange, blue-ish cubes sitting in his palm.

Tears filled your eyes as you turn in Kid's grasp, looking up at him and throwing your arms around his neck as you sob out, “I love you, I'm so sorry, I love you, I love you-”

Pure agony ripples through your entire body as Law squeezes the heart in his hand, a sadistic smirk on his lips as he calls out, “Did you really think I'd let a Kid Pirate waltz around my ship without some sort of contingency plan?” He squeezes it again and you sob out in pain, clinging to a now anxious Kid.

“Oi, oi! What the hell is that?!” Kid shouts, holding you tightly to him, his flesh hand cradling the back of your head. Killer sneers out, “Is that… her heart?!”

Law chuckles, giving the cube a small bounce in his hand before giving it another hefty squeeze. Your legs give out and Kid is stuck holding your limp body, the pain causing you to black out. Killer moves quick, blades spinning like a tornado but stops just short of slicing Law's head off as the spotted covered man holds a small blade to the heart box, the tip just sinking into the jello like blob.

One of Killer's blades rests not a millimeter from Law's neck, the masked man's eyes wide behind it. Law raises an eyebrow at him, sinking the blade into the blob just a bit more and Kid shouts, “Stop! Stop, you'll kill her, you fuckin’ psycho!”

Kid looks down at you in his arms, blood slowly seeping through your boiler suit where your heart would rest had it not been in Law's hand. Kid rests his metal hand over your chest and closes his eyes, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours as he murmurs, “I love ya, treasure.” He presses his lips to yours for what he hopes isn't the last time, laying your body down and taking a step back.

“... you'd rather kill her than let her come back with us.” Kid's words came out bland, broken but on point. Law's smirk widens, his head tilting slightly as he replies, “Obviously. She's a liability, one that I can't afford for you to gain back.”

Killer finally lowers his blade, taking a few steps back before he nearly hisses at Law, “You're a goddamn freak, you know that?”

Law simply chuckled darkly, giving a wide-eyed grin to Killer as he snaps back, “I am the Surgeon Of Death, aren't I?”

“S-stop it…”

All eyes fall back to you. You're struggling to sit up, tears blinding your vision as you breathlessly beg, “Just… stop it…”

Kid steps closer to you, only to stop as you cough up a sizable amount of blood, your suit and the ground splattered with your life essence. You try to catch your breath, looking up to Kid with a doe eyed sadness as you barely get out,

“I love you.”

Law's heart clenches in his chest, furious that you had the audacity to still spill your heart out to your ex lover, the one that took advantage of all your love. Was he not enough for you? Was his obsession with you not enough for you to want to stay with him? He gave you everything you asked for, and yet here you were, half dead, and you were still singing praises to goddamn Eustass Kid.

Fury overtook the second-guessed pain in Law's chest as Kid earnestly replies to you,

“I love ya, Y/N. I never stopped looking for you.”

Law sneered, taking a deep breath before his hand moved, the dagger sliding into the blob like a hot knife through butter. Your eyes rolled back as Kid shouted, watching as your body fell limp, your back hitting the stained gravel.

Killer gave a shout of disbelief and immediately started slicing at Law again, sword meeting scythe as they hit back and forth for a bit. Bepo went to fight as well when he suddenly felt his mini den den in his pocket rumble.

“Captain! We're ready to ship off!”

Law grins darkly and slices at Killer with a surgeons precision, right down the chest though not deep enough to kill the guy. Law had enough blood on his hands for the day.

“Room!”

Law watches as Kid sinks to his knees, pulling your slowly dying frame to his chest, his flesh hand wiping away hair from your face as he leans down to press a shaky kiss to your lips. Your own weak hand cups his scarred cheek, wiping away the unwilling tears from his eyes as you both murmur your love for each other.

“Captain?”

Law looks over to an anxious Bepo before finally, bitterly, biting out a furious,

“Shambles.”

Random newspapers fluttered over the ground where the two once stood. There was a cold, empty silence as Killer slowly stands, large hand covering the wound on his chest as he slightly limps over to his Captain.

Kid's form shakes slightly as he whispers down to you. A loving smile rests on your lips as you blink slowly up at him, your hand tracing over his face as if preserving it to memory. “I love ya so much, I'm so sorry,” Kid murmurs over and over, bitter and angry tears rushing down his cheeks.

“I love you, Red.”

Kid hisses out a sob, his teeth clenched together so tight he swore they would shatter in his mouth.

“I love you, and I forgive you.”

Kid's head falls to your bloodied chest, his breathing panicked as he holds you tighter. ‘This isn't happening, this is all a bad dream, just a bad dream,’ he thinks to himself, trying to ignore the warmth of your blood tinting his skin.

“It's okay my love,” your voice is a whisper as you grin into his hair. “You brought me back home.”

Killer weeps silently behind his mask as he kneels down, running a gloved hand over your hair soothingly. You flash him a loving smile as you murmur lastly,

“You… are my home.”

Your hand stops carding through Kid's hair and it's then that they know you're gone. “ I love you, I love you, come back, come back,” Kid begs into your boiler suit, his words muffled by the fabric. His hands cling to you, willing for your soul to return to your body as he sobs out.

Killer rests over Kid, holding his best friend like a life line as they both quietly weep over your body, hating that the world would continue to turn while you would sleep for the rest of their lives.

It's late that night, after the town had gone to sleep that the Kid Pirates gathered on the shore, a deep hole dug in the grass just off the sand. Every member stood, holding a candle and a metal flower, watching with teary eyes with some clinging to each other as your body was laid into the ground.

Kid was the last to place a flower down, brushing hair from your face one last time as he breathlessly begged, “Wake up.” He knew you would not wake, but he repeated himself regardless. “Just wake up.”

He almost jumps when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder, pulling him from his broken vision as he glances up to a silent Killer. After a moment, they both nod and stand, finally filling the grave.

Once it was covered, Killer gives Kid a slight shake, trying to keep the red head grounded as he admits softly,

“I think she'd be happy to be buried here. You picked a beautiful spot.”

Kid sniffles, a blank expression on his face as he sadly drawls out, “Nothin’ but the best for my girl.”

Killer gives him another shake before patting his shoulder and walking back towards the ship with the rest of the crew. Kid stays a little longer, his flesh hand gripping tightly around the necklace he'd made for you when he finally made you his. You may have died with it on, but he was going to live with it around his neck until the day he dies.

As Kid turns from your grave, he takes a few steps before glancing at it one last time. “... I'm gonna make you proud, babe. Just you watch, I'm gonna make you proud to be mine.” He brings the necklace to his lips for a chaste kiss before slinging it over his neck, the small rose resting over his chest and warming his skin.

He finally walks away, determination lit anew in his heart. The second he hits the deck, he promises the crew,

“Trafalgar Law will pay for this. I won't rest until his body is 12 feet under, which means we need to catch up to him.” Kid slides into his Captains chair and snarls towards the seas. “The second we find them, I'm going to crush his stupid fucking submarine like a cola can, with him and all his fucking crew inside.”

The Kid Pirates shout in agreement, raising their weapons as they scream out,

“For Y/N!”

Kid leans back and grunts tiredly, keeping his expression furious as he bites out,

“For Y/N.”

Kid can't find it in him to look back towards the shore as they pull away. His flesh hand grips around the necklace for a second and he swears he can still smell your perfume as his eyes slide shut.

Eustass Kid was not in the business of losing, but he knew truly, he'd lost not only the fight against Trafalgar, but a piece of himself as he laid you into the ground.

As Killer slides a beer into his hand, Kid chugs half of it back before slamming the bottle down onto the chairs arm. “Never again, Kil,” he starts, promising his best friend with a clink of the bottle against his. “I'm never gonna make a mistake like that again.”

Killer simply stays silent, his head turned towards the shore to watch as your grave slowly disappears from sight.

“Never again.”

#mandies mumbles ; fanfics #one piece #trafalgar law #Eustass Kid #Killer #kid pirates #part two #ok to rb #kid x reader #law x reader if u squint #losing the war part 2 #god this was so emotionally taxing 😭😭😭😭#kid baby im so sorry

100 notes · View notes

soombee · 7 months ago

Text

ଳ⋆｡˚𖦹 caught in the current of you — 06 , chemistry or chemistry ?!

warnings ! suggestive joke!!!

word count , 956 / 0.9k words

don’t mind the times LOL I’M TOO LAZY TO CHANGE ANY OF TS

* ding ! — your laptop sounds

Subject: Chemistry Project Partnership Assignment

Good Morning YN,

I hope this email finds you well. As part of our ongoing efforts to encourage collaboration and critical thinking, I have assigned partners for the upcoming chemistry project. You have been paired with Donghyun Kim for an upcoming project.

Donghyun has consistently demonstrated strong analytical skills in class, and I believe his approach will complement your own strengths. This project is an excellent opportunity for both of you to exchange ideas and develop a comprehensive presentation together.

Please note that the project is due on the 19th of December, and I recommend setting up regular meetings to ensure steady progress. If you find yourself needing any assistance or have questions, don’t hesitate to reach out.

Best of luck with your project—I look forward to seeing what you both create!

Best regards,

Professor Lee

Chemistry Department

University of California, Irvine

“wait, who’s kim donghyun..?” you scratch your head, “hm lemme see if leehan knows heheheh definitely not an excuse to text him hehehhehehee”

4:45 pm — leehan’s house

you stood outside leehan’s door, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, clutching your laptop and notes. his house was warm and welcoming, the porch light casting a soft glow over the neatly potted plants lining the steps—he must really love nature. you raised your hand to knock, but before you could, the door swung open, and there he was—in a loose white tshirt and grey sweatpants that somehow made him look even more attractive

“dirty dirty mind..” — your mouth agape

“hi,” he greeted, stepping aside to let you in, his voice so low, “come in, you can set your stuff up in the living room or my room if you want”

his space was cozy, a mix of messy and organized—a sign of humanity. textbooks and random scribbled notes were stacked on the coffee table, while the faint smell of fresh coffee lingered in the air. you couldnt help but notice the personal touches scattered around—a framed photo of leehan and sangwon at a beach, a glass tank glimmering in the corner with vibrant little fishies darting around, and a blanket draped over the couch that looked so soft

he noticed your eyes lingering on the couch and giggled, hands motioning to the couch “you can sit there, ill go grab my notes”

as you settled in, you tried not to let your nerves show. it wasnt like this was the first time you’d worked on a project with someone…… but there was something about being here—in his space, with the quiet hum of the fish tank in the background and his cologne lingering in the air—that made your heart race

when he returned, he placed a cup of tea in front of you without a word and dropped onto the floor across from you, his laptop already open. he caught you staring, and for a brief moment, his brow lifted in quiet curiosity

you had come to his house with every intention of being productive—laptop charged, notes designed and organized in your folder. well, at first, you both were. the whiteboard he had set up next to the coffee table quickly filled with chemical diagrams, and the first thirty minutes were a flurry of brainstorming and collaborative problem-solving

but at some point, without either of you realizing it, the focus shifted

“okay, so if we combine that formula with…” you paused, trying to think of the next step, when leehan interrupted with a grin

“…me and u?” he jokes, leaning back and spinning the pen between his fingers

you laughed, shaking your head. “oh shut up, u can’t even focus on the project, what makes u think i’d like u stupid”

his jaw dropped in mock offense. “this is one time! and you’re distracting me!”

“oh forreal? how?”

leehan hesitated for just a beat too long before shrugging, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression “hmm.. we’ll never know!”

you snorted, deciding to let him off the hook, “uh huh… you’re an idiot”

the conversation continued off-topic from there, subtle flirting and teasing laughs filling the room. neither of you seemed to notice how the chemistry project lay abandoned between you, nor how the serious tone of the study session had softened into something lighter— i mean, it was still about chemistry…. your chemistry!

at one point, he leaned over to draw something on the edge of your notes, and his shoulder brushed yours. the touch was so casual you told yourself it meant nothing, but the faint warmth lingered, making you lose your train of thought

“look at that,” he said, pulling back to reveal his creation; a poorly drawn fish with exaggerated features

you laughed so hard you nearly fell off the couch, the fluffy blanket falling on the floor, “that’s supposed to be a fish? for someone who loves them, i thought you’d do them more justice than whatever that is”

leehan grinned, clearly pleased with your reaction “you’re so mean, drawing is hard, okay!!”

you both dissolved into laughter again, your voices echoing softly through the space

it wasnt until much later, when the sky outside had darkened and the faint glow of the streetlights seeped through the curtains, that you both noticed how little youd actually accomplished

“wait…” you said, staring at the clock then back at leehan, “did we even finish the hypothesis..?”

leehan blinked at the whiteboard, which had somehow ended up filled with doodles instead of equations. “uhhhmmm…”

“it’s fiiinnneeee… we have a month left..” you defend your lack of work, it was all worth it— for the subtle teasing, the laughter, and, most importantly, the time you spent with leehan

prev | mlist | next

Idek where this is going but ik one thing tho!

taglist (open) ! @saintriots @yourmyst4r @sftsohee @httpenhoon @alisonyus @astrae4 @lynnimini @enhacolor @mari3s @voikiraz @yveol @sol3chu @saritahwang @kazemiya @kamfaye

63 notes · View notes

honeybeezgobzzzzz · 2 months ago

Text

⚡️ How Not to Fake a Date

How Not to Fake a Date: Cassie needs a date to her sister’s wedding. Constantly bullied by her cousins, the terror triplets, Cassie needs to find someone willing to be her shield and date. Lucky for her, there is a certain grumpy scientist who is up for the challenge.

Warnings: Language.

To Note: Harry x NAMED!Reader.

Word Count: ~8.3k

Harry Wells

Stalking into the Cortex, you rush past your friends and head to the workshop where your little work table is set up. Throwing your bag onto the desk, you drop your body into the chair and rub your forehead.

“Uh oh,” Cisco comments from where he sits at his worktable. He sets down whatever invention he’s been fiddling with. Harry, who’s been scribbling on his clear whiteboard, glances over his shoulder.

“Hey, Cass, you okay?”

Huffing where you sit, you slouch down further into a bog of annoyance and desperation.

“No, not really,” you answer glumly, letting out a dramatic sigh that is probably not needed at the moment. “I told you that my sister is getting married next week, right?”

“Yeah,” Cisco responds as he grabs a Twizzler and shoves it into his mouth. “You mentioned that a few months back and had to go dress shopping with her…”

“I just received confirmation that the triplets are going,” you state, before dropping completely back and spinning your chair in a dejected circle.

“The terror triplets, as in the same triplets that made your middle and high school hell, as in the same triplets that purposefully spilled paint on you at prom? Those triplets?” Cisco blurts out loudly. Completing your circle, you lift your head and raise an eyebrow.

“Do you know any other triplets?”

“Right,” Cisco answers before blinking and frowning. “This is bad, really bad.”

“You’re telling me. Mom guilt-tripped Amanda into inviting them. She still doesn’t know that they hate me and make it a point to make my life miserable,” you groan out, draping your arm across your eyes. “I want this wedding to be perfect for Amanda, but if those triplets are going, something is going to happen, and then Amanda is going to get mad and upset, and the wedding will be ruined.”

“You’re the maid of honor. Would they really go after you in front of everyone?” Harry questions grumpily from where he’s fiddling with the tail end of a formula, his marker making the occasional squeaking noises.

“Yes,” you and Cisco answer at the same time. Cisco waves a hand at you, despite Harry not even looking your way.

“Those evil triplets have had it out for Cassie, for like, ever. The more people there are to watch them embarrass Cassie, the better,” Cisco explains, giving you an apologetic look. “I would totally go with you as your date and try to be your shield, but I promised Dante I’d watch the kids.”

“I wouldn’t subject you to the triplets, Cisco. They would eat you alive,” you mumble while running a hand through your hair with a deep sigh. “I don’t know what to do. I told Cassie that I would bring someone with me if I could find a date, but I don’t want to subject anyone to them when I know that the triplets are going to make the night miserable.”

“Well then, let’s brainstorm ideas,” Cisco says as you reach for your coffee cup and take a long drink. “You need someone who takes no shit, is handsome, yet stoic enough to not fall for those she-devils’ charms, and someone who, with no doubt, will not let those harpies bully you.”

“Who exactly, Cisco?” you question, taking another sip of coffee.

“Someone like Harry, I guess.”

Harry’s marker makes a loud squeaking noise as his hand jerks and you, who are taking in a big mouthful of coffee, spew the black substance all over your desk before proceeding to cough. While you’re coughing out any coffee you’ve inhaled, Harry twists on his heel and stares at Cisco.

“Cisco!” you exclaim with a scratchy voice, coughing once more.

“What? You are, like, the only person Harry actually likes and is nice to!” Cisco explains while waving his arm around. “If anyone is going to ward off those harpies, it would be him!”

“It’s Harry!” you explode, waving a vigorous arm at the indicated man, who is now staring vacantly at Cisco. “On what Earth do you think he would ever do that!? I need an actual solution, not a fantasy!”

“No one said it was a fantasy, Cass,” Cisco argues, crossing his arms and trying to look taller than he is.

“It’s Harry, of course it is,” you hiss at him, your eyes flashing in warning. Cisco knows exactly how you feel about a certain dark-haired scientist here at the lab. Not only is he trying to help you with your triplet situation, he’s trying to pair Harry up with you.

You only have yourself to blame. You got drunk and then the topic of love interests came up. Your stupid mouth ended up rambling on and on to Cisco about how much you like Harry.

“I am sure he has other, more important things to do than pretend to be my significant other!”

“Are Cassie’s cousins really that bad?” Harry questions, cutting into the conversation. You let out a groan and bury your head into your hands once more while Cisco turns to him and nods vigorously.

“Very. The last time those she-devils were in the same room as Cass, it was her birthday and she was wearing this super cute light pink dress. Cass was really excited about it because it looked good on her. Those twits spilled red wine on Cass and then pretended to be sorry. She had to go change out of it.”

“That was three years ago, Cisco. How do you remember that?” you question Cisco, your eyebrows lifted in confusion. He gives you a face before looking at Harry.

“What’d’ya say, Harry?” Cisco asks the blinking scientist. You let out another groan in embarrassment. “Feel like helping out our damsel in distress?”

“Cisco, really—”

“When is it and how long?” Harry questions bluntly. You freeze in your seat and slowly turn to look at Harry, who is gazing at you with expectant eyes.

“Next week, three days in Star City,” you answer while chewing your lip. “There’s the rehearsal dinner, the wedding, and then a family lunch the third day. It’s family tradition.”

“And you already RSVP’d that you were bringing a plus one?” Your shoulders slump, and you rub your cheek dejectedly.

“Yes. I was hoping I could get one of my other friends to go with me, but they all said they would not put up with the triplets’ attitude or the possibility of them ruining a dress.”

“Consider it done,” Harry states before turning back to his whiteboard and resuming working on his formula.

Cisco and you blink at Harry’s back in total shock before looking at each other.

A silent conversation goes between you, with you berating him and Cisco giving you a smug smirk. Face-palming yourself, you lean back in your seat once more and let out an inaudible sigh. You just hope Harry keeps his temper in check with the triplets’ antics.

You both end up lounging around for the rest of the afternoon, waiting for the rehearsal dinner. When it’s a quarter till, you start getting dressed.

You don’t plan on going too formal despite knowing your mother is going to harp on you. You choose a dark blue dress with a V neckline and spaghetti straps, simple silver heels that only add a meager two inches to your height, and curl your hair lightly. Formal, but not too formal.

Leaning over the bathroom counter, you put in simple diamond studs and add a silver bracelet that you and Amanda both have copies of. You don’t want to wear anything too nice — that just increases the chances of the triplets trying to ruin your clothes or jewelry.

“Cassie, you almost done?” Harry questions, rapping his knuckles on the closed bathroom door. “Amanda has been texting you nonstop for the last five minutes and she’s starting to get more insistent.”

Stepping away from the counter, you walk over and open the door. Harry’s already dressed in his black suit and blue tie, which conveniently matches your dress. You blink at each other for a second before he hands over your phone. You take it and glance at the screen.

“The terror triplets already made two of the bridesmaids cry and one of the groomsmen… That’s got to be a record,” you sigh, dropping your phone to your side. Harry raises an eyebrow as you walk past him to grab the little bottle of perfume Amanda requested you make for her wedding day. “Alright, I’ve got Amanda’s perfume, so I’m ready. Are you?”

Harry raises one elegant eyebrow at you before stuffing his hands into his slack pockets and rocking back on his heels. Stupid question. The man looks unbelievably hot in his dressed-down suit and has been waiting on you to finish.

With no further words, you both walk out of the hotel room and head for the rehearsal dinner.

The entire way there, your hands fidget with the small bottle, your nerves showing. You’re about to dig your fingers into the glass for the hundredth time when Harry reaches over and plucks your right hand from where it’s about to wrap itself around the bottle. He weaves his fingers through yours and adds pressure, revealing just how nervously you’ve been ticking away.

“Sorry,” you mutter as the elevator doors slide open with a chime.

Harry gracefully saunters out, tugging you along as he goes.

“Your hands fidget when you get nervous. If you want your family to stop harassing you about your relationship status, you need to be relaxed next to me,” Harry says, smiling down at you. You have to work not to look completely taken aback by his gentle and caring demeanor. This is just an act.

“Since when do you know about my nervous tick?” you ask softly as you walk through the main entrance, heading for the side hallway. “I thought you spent your time staring at your formulas.”

The tips of Harry’s ears go red.

“I don’t just stare at a whiteboard all day, Cass,” he says as the sound of your raucous family hits your ears. “I’ve taken the time to study everyone at the lab. You have a particular tick with your hands when you’re nervous, you bite your lip when you’re in deep thought, and when you’re thinking about work, you get this distant look in your eyes.”

“Point made. I’d ask what you’ve noticed about the others, but they’re all painfully obvious,” you answer as you come to a stop a few feet from the doors to the rehearsal dinner.

“Harry, I really am thankful for you volunteering, but you don’t have to get in between me and the triplets. Wine is probably going to be thrown at some point, and I’d hate to see your suit get ruined.”

Harry pulls you around so you’re facing him and stares down into your eyes with a look that clearly says shut up and listen.

“Cass, I’m here, and I will not let anyone bully you,” he tells you, all seriousness. “And I wasn’t kidding about you being a Yorkie. You have the survival instinct of a Chihuahua. All bark, little bite.”

“Harrison!” you hiss, cheeks heating as you swat his shoulder with your hand. He just grins at you — an actual grin — clearly enjoying teasing you.

“Cassandra!? Is that you?”

Your back stiffens, and you suck in a breath at the voice. Turning on your heel, you give your Aunt Victoria a strained smile.

“Hi Aunt Victoria!” you greet, at least trying to sound enthused. The tall, modelesque woman strides over, her blonde hair regally pulled up into a French twist to show off the sparkling necklace around her neck. She’s picture-perfect and never ceases to draw eyes.

“I was wondering when you would show your face,” she continues before washing her eyes over Harry, practically undressing him with her gaze. You have to resist the urge to wrinkle your nose. While Harry is indeed older than you, Victoria has three divorces under her belt and has never held a stable relationship with anyone other than the super rich. “And who is this? A friend from work?”

Harry shifts where he stands, a charming smile stretching across his lips as he slips an arm around your back and pulls you against his side, offering his other hand for a handshake.

“I’m Harry, Cass’s boyfriend,” Harry answers with full charm and politeness as the two shake hands. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet someone from her side of the family. I’m afraid we both don’t get out of the lab too often.”

“You work in a lab as well?” Victoria prods, her eyes lighting up at the mention of a lab—and the possible implication of money.

“I’m a physicist,” Harry explains shortly before looking down at you with a heart-warming smile. You could have melted on the spot if it was real.

“Do you know where Mom and Amanda are?” you ask Victoria, holding up the glass bottle to show her. “I have Amanda’s perfume right here and want to make sure she likes it.”

“They’re talking with Mother over by the far wall,” Victoria answers, twisting her lips into a canary smile. “Don’t be a stranger. I’m sure my daughters would love to meet you. Stephanie just finished her graduate degree in engineering.”

“I’ll have to make sure to introduce myself,” Harry responds pleasantly before turning to look down at you again. “Shall we, babe? I’m sure your mother is dying to know who the man that captured her daughter’s heart is.”

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. That’s the truth—your mother is going to meet the man who’s stolen your heart. The man himself just doesn’t know it.

Departing from Victoria’s hungry presence, you and Harry proceed into the Magnolia Room. You’re occasionally stopped by family members—and a few from Liam’s side. Not once does Harry break character from his charming persona, and you have to remind yourself that he couldn’t possibly have built his company on Earth-Two by acting like his usual stoic, grumpy self.

Eventually, you make it to Mom and Amanda, and you immediately dive into Amanda’s protective embrace. She laughs and hugs you back, giving your small frame a squeeze before pulling back to look you over.

“Did you shrink this last year?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. You scowl at her, arms crossing as she and Harry start laughing.

“I most certainly did not,” you huff, grumbling as Amanda turns her eyes to the man standing behind you.

“And who is this? Boyfriend, hopefully?” Amanda teases, offering her hand. “I’m Amanda, if you haven’t figured that out. Cassie’s older sister and eternal tormentor.”

“I’m guessing everyone in the family likes to joke about Cass’s height,” Harry answers lightly, shaking her hand. “Harry, Cassie’s boyfriend—and other tormentor.”

“God, there’s two of them,” you moan to yourself, watching an unholy union form between your sister and Harry. Your mother clicks her tongue before picking at your hair and dress.

“Oh come now, Cassandra, stop whining,” she chides, already nitpicking before you’ve even greeted her properly. Amanda bites her lip and sighs as Harry raises an eyebrow. Your mom turns to him.

“I’m Eleanor, Cassandra and Amanda’s mother. It’s nice to finally meet you. I was beginning to wonder if Cassandra planned to spend the rest of her life alone.”

Harry says nothing to your mother’s cutting remark. He just smiles and shakes her hand. You and Amanda exchange a few loaded looks while your mother starts grilling Harry about his life. You hold up the perfume bottle.

“Batch forty-eight,” you tell Amanda, offering it to her. “Took me forever to figure out the combinations, but I think it turned out quite nice. Take a whiff.”

Amanda carefully undoes the top and pulls out the wand, running it beneath her nose. Her eyes brighten and a blinding smile spreads across her face.

“You matched it up with my flower scheme perfectly!” she exclaims, carefully stoppering the bottle and dragging you back in for a hug. You’re enormously relieved that Amanda loves the perfume.

Dinner comes, and sitting at the main table with Mom, Amanda, and Liam, you and Harry are subjected to all sorts of questions about your relationship. Luckily, you don’t have to lie about most of it—like how you met.

Unfortunately, after dinner and drinks, it’s time to introduce Harry to the triplets, so you don’t appear rude.

You start shaking the moment your eyes land on their posse. Harry, being the genius he is, immediately takes your hand and provides pressure. Stephanie, Quinn, and Irene are exactly like their mother—dressed beautifully, painted flawlessly, and tall. Everything you’re not. Yet Harry hardly spares them a glance, choosing instead to immerse himself in a conversation with Great Uncle Albert, who’s somehow tottered over without his walker.

Despite Harry gripping your hand, you’re still left under the triplets’ scrutiny. They narrow their eyes at you.

“I’m surprised you even came,” Irene drawls quietly, venom laced in her tone. Your eyes narrow at her as your hackles rise. She shifts her eyes to Harry, who is engrossed in some topic about physics. “A little old for you, isn’t he? I would think he’d prefer someone with actual… experience?”

“Careful, Irene,” you reply coolly, resisting the urge to spit your words. “Wouldn’t want to be caught lusting after your cousin’s boyfriend, would you?”

The three of them snort in unison and roll their eyes.

“Cassandra, Cassandra, Cassandra,” Quinn says, glancing at her talons. “You don’t really think he’s interested in you, do you? A short, pudgy little woman with straw-colored hair and an intense need to get a life?”

“I would bet my entire wardrobe she hired him for the wedding,” Stephanie adds, making your face flush with anger. Your nails dig into your palm as you struggle to keep from lashing out. They’re goading you—baiting you into making a scene.

You take in a deep breath and rise to your feet. After enduring dinner with their spiteful looks, you decide you’re allowed to excuse yourself, claiming a headache.

“Apologies, Harry,” you announce, trying to keep your voice neutral as you glance at the triplets. “I think I might be getting a headache and would like to head up for the night. Will you be alright on your own? I’d hate to tear you from your conversation with Uncle Albert.”

Harry frowns up at you, clearly picking up on your discomfort. Uncle Albert waves a hand.

“Bah! Don’t feel bad, Cassie girl. I’m sure your boyfriend is tired of hearing me rattle on about my days as a nuclear physicist.”

Harry rises from his seat with a pinched expression.

“How bad is it? Do you need me to go get you some water and Advil?” he asks, stepping up to you and running a hand gently over the side of your head, staring deep into your eyes.

“I’m fine, I just need some rest,” you explain with a strained smile. “It’s been an exciting day mixed with travel. I want to be rested for tomorrow.”

“I go where you go, Cass,” Harry reminds you as he takes your elbow and begins steering you toward Amanda, Liam, your mom, Victoria, and a host of other guests.

Amanda catches sight of you both and narrows her eyes just slightly.

“Hey Amanda, I think I’m going to head up for the night,” you tell her. “Got a bit of a headache and want to be fresh for tomorrow morning.”

“Of course,” Amanda responds without hesitation. “I hope everyone wasn’t too overbearing…”

You start to shake your head but are immediately startled when your mother bursts into the conversation.

“What?” she exclaims. “But you just got here, and I’ve barely had any time to spend with you or Harry. How am I supposed to judge your relationship if you don’t spend time with me?”

“Mom! I don’t need you to judge anything!” you snap, your face burning as your hands start gripping the blue material of your dress. “I’m an adult!”

“I am being a concerned mother who wants to make sure that this man loves my daughter properly,” she insists before turning her eyes on Harry, who now wears a blank expression. Damn it—that’s the look he gets when he’s thinking. But what is he thinking?

“No offense, Harry, I’m sure you’re a gentleman… but I must protect my daughter.”

There are several eye rolls from the Roger side of the family. Even Liam rolls his eyes. But with the eye rolls comes the renewed attention of the triplets, who are now clearly edging closer, smirks plastered across their faces.

“Or you could just kiss to appease Mom,” Amanda mumbles beneath her breath while Liam nods in agreement. “That worked with us…”

A muffled grunt of disdain bubbles in the back of your throat. Both options suck: sit and suffer through a conversation with your mother and make your headache worse, or kiss Harry and risk showing just how obviously you haven’t done that before. You could leave, but then everyone would know something is up.

While you’re rubbing your face in clear irritation, Harry seems to make up his mind. “Well, if that’s what it takes to show you that I love your daughter.”

Harry shrugs before turning to you and sweeping an arm behind your back. You don’t even have time to express surprise or shock. You simply fall into his grasp as he takes your cheek in his other hand and lowers his lips to yours.

Your eyelashes fall shut instantly as the fantasy of kissing Harry Wells becomes reality—and it’s more than you could have ever imagined. His lips against yours are warm and homey, the kind that steal kisses during lazy afternoons or right at the start of a day when you haven’t yet rolled out of bed.

And then he teases your mouth open, and the kiss sets your body on fire. Locked in an open-mouthed kiss in front of your entire family—whom you momentarily forget—you strain upward to press your lips more firmly to his as your hands lightly dig into his dress shirt.

Harry’s thumb skims the arch of your cheekbone, feeling soft and delicate, totally at odds with the hands that build powerful machines. What’s supposed to be fake and convincing feels real and electric, and you have a hard time connecting your racing mind to your buzzing body. There’s a new burning in your chest, and when Harry pulls away to gaze into your eyes, you just stare dumbly back, your cheeks flushed pink.

“Well, I’m convinced,” Amanda huffs as everyone else remains deathly silent.

A soft groan slips from your lips as you lean forward and thump your head against Harry’s chest. You might have convinced the family—but now you know one thing with absolute certainty.

You’re so deeply in love with Harrison Wells, it’s going to crush you when he leaves.

As you make your exit, only one thought echoes in your mind:

His kiss lingers long after his lips have left yours.

After changing into shorts and a tank top to sleep in, you wander over to the hotel room window to stare outside. Your mind is riddled with confusion. You’d have thought Harry would choose to sit down and charm his way into your mother’s heart, like he did with everyone else. But no—instead, the doctor had chosen to kiss you.

And kiss you he did.

You’ve never, ever been kissed like that. Like you’re the only thing that matters in that moment. So gentle and passionate that even your own mind has difficulty believing it was just a kiss meant to get your mother off your backs. It meant nothing. You’re not really dating. No matter how much your brain and heart try to convince you that the kiss had more to it than just mechanics, that’s all it was ever going to be. A kiss.

Pressing your fingers to your still tingling lips, you push a slow sigh through your nostrils before turning to glance at the couch… then at the bathroom door.

Harry’s in the shower.

Perfect chance.

You snap up a pillow and blanket and slump down on the couch. Tucking the pillow beneath your head, you curl into a little ball, stretch the blanket over your body, and snuggle in.

Lying on your side, you reach up and brush your fingers over your lips once more.

Kissing Harry feels magical—everything you’ve dreamed of and more—and yet a part of you wishes it had never happened.

Now you know what it’s like… and you’re only going to want more.

You close your eyes and try—try—to get Harry out of your mind.

Your dreams are filled with brightness. You’re on some island with pristine white beaches, giggling as you run across the sand, someone in chase behind you. It isn’t a scary chase—it feels playful, like a game of keep-away.

Every time you glance over your shoulder, a grin stretched wide across your face, you catch a glimpse of the man behind you. He’s dressed in white shorts and a white shirt, but the sun is so bright, you can’t see his face.

It doesn’t matter. You’re still smiling, still laughing, your joy boundless and light.

“For someone with long legs, you sure are slow!” you taunt, splashing across a shallow inlet. Warm ocean water splashes against the dress you wear over your bathing suit, and sand sticks to your feet and ankles.

He doesn’t reply, but you can feel the shift—he’s speeding up.

You let out another playful laugh and bound a few more steps before strong arms suddenly lift you from the ground.

“Hey!” you shout, laughing even as you squirm in his grasp.

You’re swept up effortlessly into a pair of comfortable arms. The sun still blinds you from seeing his face, but somehow, that doesn’t matter either. You wrap your arms around his neck, nuzzling your face into the warm crook of his shoulder.

Everything feels safe.

But the brightness begins to fade, melting into darkness. The sun-kissed warmth on your skin disappears, replaced by a subtle chill.

Letting out a small groan, you shift slightly—only to feel those same arms holding you.

“Go back to sleep,” a gruff voice rumbles in your ear as you’re gently laid down onto a soft surface.

Blankets are drawn over your chilled body, and with a soft snuffle, you roll over and bury your face into a fluffy pillow, already drifting back toward dreams.

“I cannot believe you!” you growl, chucking a pillow at Harry’s head. It harmlessly bounces off his chest and flops to the floor as he stares at you with his usual unimpressed expression. “God, the nerve!”

You scramble across the bed and stretch a leg out to climb off, your scowl carved deep into your face. Standing, you stomp over to Harry and cross your arms, glaring up at him with the most withering scowl you can manage.

Last night, you snuggled up on the couch and passed out. This morning, you woke up on the bed—hugging a pillow to your chest—while Harry was scrunched up like an accordion on the couch.

“You might want to grab a chair if you plan on growling at me in the face, Yorkie,” Harry says, amused, as your face flushes with a mix of irritation and mortification. You let out one last growl and shoot him a scathing look before storming off to the bathroom.

You freshen up—throw your hair into a loose bun, wash your face—and emerge in a slightly better mood. Harry is tinkering again, as if nothing ever happened.

“Guests are due to arrive at 1:45,” you announce as you grab your phone and the room key. “I’ll be out helping Amanda. If you need anything, text me.”

“This isn’t the first wedding I’ve gone to, Cassie. I’ll be fine,” he says, glancing up briefly to meet your eyes.

“Tell me that when my family is driving you up the walls,” you mutter under your breath.

“Considering last night, I think I can handle them,” he replies with a twitch of his lips.

Your face burns, and with a huff, you spin on your heel and march out the door to find Amanda and the rest of the bridal party.

Letting yourself into the bridal suite, you mutter under your breath about idiot men as you approach Amanda and your mother.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Amanda calls as you drop into an empty chair. “Trouble in paradise?”

“I’m dating an idiot, that’s what,” you mumble, leaning your head back and running a hand through your hair. “How’d you sleep? Get enough for your big day?”

“Like a baby,” Amanda replies smugly, admiring her freshly manicured nails.

“Time to start the pampering process, Cassandra,” your mother chimes in, sipping her coffee. “Stop slouching.”

“Aren’t I allowed to slouch if I’m being pampered?” you grumble as she waves over one of the stylists.

“You are a lady, dear. Act like one, and maybe you’ll get that boyfriend of yours to propose.”

You make a choking sound as Amanda rolls her eyes.

“Alright, Mom, I think everyone has harassed Cassie enough. Let it be—it’s my wedding. Why don’t you go make sure Aunt Victoria and the triplets have everything they need?”

Your mother doesn’t look thrilled, but she listens to Amanda and leaves the room.

“I swear that woman gets more controlling every year,” you sigh as your stylist starts brushing out your hair. Amanda makes a sound of agreement before perking up.

“So, we need to talk, Cass.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“About what? The wedding?” you ask, tapping your fingers on your thigh. “Because if you want to change something, it might be a little late…”

“No, no, everything about the wedding is perfect,” Amanda says. “We need to talk about Harry.”

“Didn’t you just say you weren’t going to push that topic?”

“Last I knew, you were a single woman—and that was a few days ago,” Amanda says pointedly. You close your eyes and count to ten in your head. Nothing ever goes over Amanda’s head. Nothing.

“I was almost sure he was just a friend… until he kissed you last night. Who is he really? And don’t bullshit me—you know that doesn’t fly.”

“He’s my coworker,” you explain weakly. “And a friend. I was trying to figure out who I could bring that would keep the triplets off my back. Harry volunteered. That’s it.”

Amanda stares at you like she’s waiting for more.

“What?”

“Cass, a friend doesn’t kiss a girl like that unless there’s something deeper going on,” Amanda says with a raised eyebrow. “Hell, I’m pretty sure everyone was convinced Harry is in love with you. May I also remind you that you kissed him back?”

“No, you may not,” you mutter, scratching your nose. “But since I know you’ll just keep digging, fine. I’ve had the biggest crush on the man since I met him, and I’m resigned to the fact that it’ll never go anywhere.”

“Sis, you haven’t seen the way he looks at you when you’re not looking,” Amanda says softly. “It’s like you’re the only person in the room. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is—because Liam looks at me like that all the time… but I’m not an oblivious idiot.”

“Did you just insult me twice?” you ask, shooting her a dirty look. Amanda bursts out laughing, and thankfully, the two of you drift into lighter conversation as the rest of the bridal party begins to arrive.

Once everyone is there, the mimosas come out, and the real wedding prep begins.

Amanda’s having her hair swept all the way up, adorned with silver accents and tiny flowers. The bridesmaids—including you—are getting half updos with braids laced through and sprigs of baby’s breath. The rest of your hair is curled into soft waves.

You’re especially glad Amanda didn’t want bold makeup. It never looks quite right on your face.

The five of you bridesmaids get into your dresses, helping each other tie up the corset backs. Aside from that, the dresses are straightforward—sweetheart neckline, thin off-the-shoulder straps, and plum-colored fabric that flows behind you. The four-inch heels that match feel like your mortal enemy, despite all your practice.

“How much do you think the triplets are going to bitch about not being in the bridal party?” Erin asks while tightening Heidi’s dress one last time.

“Oh, they are positively seething,” you answer with a huff as you slip your heels on and stand up.“But Amanda knew if they were bridesmaids, they’d make everyone miserable.”

“Amen to that,” Jessica says as the florist arrives with the bouquets. Excitement flares in the room as everyone rushes to check them out.

You smile as Amanda peeks out from the bedroom. She must be in her wedding dress now.

What follows is a wave of squealing and emotional chaos—so much that your mother rolls her eyes and tersely reminds everyone there’s still a wedding to get to.

You collect your bouquet and head to the ceremony room where the groomsmen are already milling around. You step carefully up to Jack, Liam’s best man, and loop your arm through his.

“You ready to get this over with?” Jack asks, looking down at you with a twitch of amusement.

“I’m ready to not be harassed by my mother,” you answer truthfully. “How’s Liam holding up?”

“Liam’s fine. He would’ve been happy getting married in a little white church in Vegas,” Jack says with a grin. “But the missus put her foot down on that one.

“Can you blame her? Our mom’s a control freak. She needed something to control. Her wedding was it.”

The music starts. Jack makes a sound of agreement.

“Oh, and one more thing—don’t let me trip.”

Sitting at the table after dinner, Harry’s arm is loosely wrapped around your side as he talks to Uncle Albert—again. You try very hard not to think about the hand that’s settled on your hip. Your fingers lightly dance around the stem of your wineglass while your eyes drift to the group of dancers partying hard on the outdoor patio.

“Cassie girl?”

You blink yourself back to the table and glance over at Uncle Albert and Harry. “Sorry, what is it?”

Uncle Albert snorts.

“You have to be bored out of your mind. Don’t let me take up you and Harry’s time.”

You smile at him and shake your head.

“It’s nice to see Harry talking with someone who understands physics,” you reply before pushing your chair back and getting up. “I’m going to head outside, make a few rounds before Mom hunts me down for being antisocial.”

Feeling oddly brave, you lean down and press a quick kiss to Harry’s cheek.

“Don’t let Uncle Albert talk your ear off,” you add with a small smile before turning and heading for the doors.

Stepping out into the night, your eyes scan the crowd, and you’re relieved to see Amanda still having the time of her life. Good. That’s how it should be.

Your feet wander toward the gardens and the fountains, your fingers brushing over the waxy petals of flowers and neatly trimmed bushes. You sigh softly.

Why is love so complicated and painful for you when it’s so easy and carefree for Amanda and Liam?

You stop at the edge of the large fountain and watch the bubbling water. The triplets haven’t really tried anything tonight. Maybe Harry didn’t even need to come.

You rub your cheeks and sigh again.

“You need to get a life, Cassie,” you murmur, trying to convince yourself that Harry is untouchable, that the sooner you accept that, the easier this will all be.

You tilt your head to the night sky, about to return to the party and find some obscure relative to talk to— When you hear the unmistakable clack of three sets of heels.

“Shit.”

Turning in place, you see the triplets sauntering toward you with that gleam in their eyes. They’ve been waiting. Patiently. For you to be alone.

Without Harry in sight to deter them, you’re a sitting duck.

“Cassandra, you’ve been avoiding us,” Quinn drawls with a small tut.

“You know why,” you reply, arms crossing over your chest. “Though I still don’t understand why you’ve always gone out of your way to target me.”

“Simple. We don’t like you,” Irene says with a shrug. “Always so high and mighty, thinking you’re above us.”

What? You stare at them. That’s so backwards it’s almost laughable—but arguing with them is useless. They’re stubborn, entitled, and live in their own universe.

“For the last time, no, I don’t,” you sigh, rubbing your knuckles against your chin. “Now can you please leave me alone? I really don’t want to do this at my sister’s wedding.”

“As you wish,” Stephanie says loftily, and the three begin walking again. You stare, baffled, as they glide past you without incident.

That’s suspicious.

Too suspicious.

You barely have time to process it before they pause—

Then turn back—

And Irene, as expected, is the one to strike.

She swings her arm wide, catching you just hard enough in the chest to send you stumbling. Your balance falters on your too-high heels, and your breath catches in your throat.

The edge of the fountain clips against the back of your knees, and gravity does the rest.

You’re falling.

Their smug faces are the last thing you see—until something grabs you.

A gasp rips from your chest as your body whirls sideways and you’re suddenly dipped low, strong arms supporting your back and waist.

Harry.

His blue eyes stare down at you.

“Falling for me yet again, Cassie?” he asks, mouth curving slightly.

Your flush explodes across your cheeks as your racing heart struggles along. He pulls you upright, steadying you, then tucks you close to his chest, holding you firmly there.

Leaning back slightly, you glance up at his face—only to see his eyes locked on something behind you.

The triplets.

“Has anyone ever informed you how childish and infantile you act?” Harry says sharply, his voice cold and unimpressed. Your eyes widen.

No one ever talks to the triplets like that.

“You’re adults,” he continues, tone icy. “I suggest you act like it.”

The sound of offended gasps and hurried footsteps follow as they scurry away, their egos dented and pride bruised.

You exhale slowly and rest your forehead against Harry’s chest, relieved beyond words. “Crisis averted,” you murmur.

“Considering you brought me along to be your shield,” Harry muses quietly, “I’m surprised you wandered so far.”

“It was stupid of me to even bring you, Harry,” you admit, sighing. “I can’t have you taking on my problems. I should be the one dealing with them.”

“It’s three against one, Cass,” he replies gently. His hand glides up your side until it cups your chin, tilting your face so you have no choice but to look into his eyes. “I hardly call that fair.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t exactly sign up to get coerced into kissing me,” you mutter, cheeks still aflame.

“I had two options, Cass,” Harry says, brushing his thumb lightly over your lower lip. “And I didn’t need to be coerced. What I needed was an excuse.”

“An excuse?” you whisper, confused. “To what? Kiss me? I thought you just tolerated me because I don’t bother you…”

Harry sighs and drops his hand from your face, running it through his hair in that way he always does when he’s stressed.

“I—I’m not very good at relationships, Cassie, you know that, but I—” He falters, then exhales hard. “And Ramon said that you…”

Damn it, Cisco! When you get back, he’s getting an earful.

But you shove the irritation aside and focus on Harry, whose face looks unusually vulnerable.

“Harry, it’s okay,” you whisper up at him, reaching to gently smooth the hair he just ruffled. “You don’t have to tell me anything if it’s hard. I won’t press you. We’re friends, aren’t we? I can be happy with that.”

He growls softly, more frustrated than before. Why isn’t this working? You always have a calming effect on him. So why not now?

“I—” he starts again, then pauses, licking his lips before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

When he opens them again, they’re filled with clarity. Steel.

“Cassie… when it comes to relationships, I’m not good with words,” he says, voice firm now. “But what I’m trying to say is—I don’t want to be your friend.”

That hits you right in the heart—a painful pinch that steals your breath, knocks the wind out of your sails, and leaves you stranded in open water.

Harry must see something flicker in your eyes, some flash of pain, because he starts cursing under his breath, muttering things you can’t quite catch.

“…messing things up again,” he growls—and then he leans down and kisses you like he’s trying to breathe the truth into your lungs.

Whiplash.

That’s all you feel until your mind catches up to the moment.

He doesn’t want to be your friend.

He wants to be more.

Your fingers abandon the lapels of his blazer to curl into his hair, tangling at the base of his neck. You tug gently, pulling him closer, needing more—needing everything. For once, you're grateful for the heels that bring you closer to his mouth.

Harry’s arm around your waist tightens, pulling you fully into him, and his free hand finds the braid at the back of your head. He tilts your head back, deepening the kiss. It’s fevered, all heat and emotion, and you both take without hesitation—without fear.

You tug on his hair, trembling in his arms, your whole body lit up like a storm. Your heart races with joy and desire, your breath ragged and shallow. For a moment, you forget where you are. You even forget how to breathe.

When you finally gasp for air, Harry slows, softening the kiss with gentle brushes to the corners of your mouth. You sigh, wrapping your arm around his neck, cherishing the warmth in every press of his lips.

Harry, who wears his gruffness like armor, kisses like a man who means every second of it. And you? You feel like something’s been ignited inside you—a flame you didn’t know was waiting.

“So what exactly did Cisco tell you?” you ask, your head tucked beneath Harry’s chin. Resting your cheek against his chest, you let out a slow exhale. “And how badly do I need to hurt him?”

“Just that my love wasn’t unrequited,” Harry murmurs. “That I needed to pull my head out of my ass before someone else came along and snapped you up.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Jess has been telling me it’s time to find happiness again. And I have it… when I’m with you.”

“You do realize the triplets were totally right when they said I’m inexperienced, right?” you admit, voice quiet. “I’ve never dated anyone. I’m not like the people you’ve been with.”

“I haven’t been with anyone since my wife died,” Harry says, brushing his fingers slowly along the bare skin of your back. “I’m… rusty. And if my spectacular bumbling hasn’t made that obvious, I don’t know what will. I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, Cassie. I’m just asking for a chance—now that I’ve finally pulled my head out of my ass.”

“I doubt you could ever make me uncomfortable, Harry,” you say with a small, nervous smile before stretching up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “But… can I ask you for a dance? I want at least one genuine memory from this wedding.”

“If it means I get to parade you in front of those triplets, absolutely,” Harry says, a real smile breaking across his face as he steps aside and offers you his arm.

You walk back toward the party feeling lighter than you have in years—and okay, maybe just a little smug.

Harry Wells is yours.

Not to get possessive from the get-go, but… you don’t like to share.

Back at the party, Harry guides you to the dance floor, finding an open space. His hand slips around your waist while his other takes your right hand. You rest your left on his shoulder and look up into his face.

“You really haven’t been in a relationship since…” you trail off. “Harry, what have you been doing with your life?”

“Being grumpy and sardonic?” he answers with a contemplative grin. “Pining after the lovely chemist while making an ass of myself.”

You giggle.

“Your grumpiness has its charms. Keeps Cisco quiet, and I get more work done… just don’t tell him I said that.”

Harry gives you another of those rare, heart-melting smiles.

“Your words are safe with me,” he says as the two of you begin to sway gently to the music.

Then, softly—

“But I have a question… what have you been doing with your life? You’re beautiful, smart, compassionate… why are you still alone?”

“I’m not alone now…” you tease, lips twitching.

Harry hums. “Stop deflecting, Cass.”

You drop your eyes to his tie, caught.

“I’m not asking for everything. I just want to understand what’s kept you in your shell. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s your mother… and your aunt.”

You inhale slowly, then look up into his eyes.

“Amanda and I grew up in a volatile house. Mom was… abusive. Verbally, emotionally. She tore Dad down constantly until one day he just left. I became my own person, but I still feel like Mom has a grip on my ankle—like she’s always holding me back from flying off. I second-guess myself. I overthink everything. Romantic relationships just seem… hard.”

Harry spins you in a slow circle before dipping you low, cradling you with strength and ease.

“I agree. Romantic relationships are hard… and fake ones? Definitely. I think we’ve officially failed at ours,” he murmurs with a grin.

“Want me to write a book? How Not to Fake a Date: A Field Study by Cassandra and Harrison,” you say playfully. “Maybe we’ll do better next time.”

“Or,” Harry says, pulling you upright and straight into his arms, “we skip the fake part entirely and just go as a real couple.”

Your teasing stops dead. The playful look melts off your face as your cheeks go pink. You sputter, flustered, and Harry smirks at your reaction.

“Well?” he presses. “I’ve made it perfectly clear I return your affection… so, Cassie—yes or no?”

Date Published: 3/2/21

Last Edit: 29/4/25

Harry Wells

#harry wells x reader #harry wells #the flash x reader #the flash

11 notes · View notes

luvhhannie · 2 years ago

Text

“yn!” your underclassman, easel neighbor, hyunjin, whisper yelled at you. you averted your gaze from your phone to his figure as you turn off your phone.

“what is it, hyunjin?” you ask him. he shook his head in disappointment and pointed towards the brainstorm board that the art teacher has made for the class. it was mostly scribbled phrases about concepts and art intentions, as well as color theory and color intention. you raised an eyebrow.

“are you telling me that i’m stupid oorr?” you trailed off. hyunjin sighed.

“no, dumbass, but ms. dawn just told us that one of our pieces should be inspired or a recreation of an existing piece. i know damn well you weren’t listening.” he lectured as you made an O expression. you hummed and grabbed your sketchbook, making thumbnail sketches. he looked over and stared at your moving hands.

“for someone who doesn’t listen in class, i can’t deny the fact that you’re an amazing artist.” hyunjin complimented. the door suddenly opened and you heard murmurs around the room, but you disregarded it, as hyunjin’s compliment was taking over your brain.

“hell yeah i am,” you giggled “but thank you.”

“anyways, what piece are you recreating? what even is your theme?” he asks you. the easel beside you creaked as you thought of an answer.

“hmm…beauty of death and life…i need to do a research on it though.” you said, still making sketches on your sketchbook. hyunjin then began brainstorming on his sketchbook as well, when suddenly you heard voices on your other side.

“myungho-ah! how was paris~? i bet it was beautiful there.” a high pitched voice asked. hyunjin scoffed as your eyes softened. there was a program at your university where a selected few were given the opportunity to visit the louvre in paris. these people are considered artistic and inspirational, and you knew hyunjin deserved one of the spots, yet he never gotten the call.

“it was alright.” the voice simply said. you were too focused sketching on your sketchbook and going back to your phone researching romeo and juliet pieces to feel the other boy’s gaze at you. however, hyunjin noticed it. he suddenly nudged you, making you draw a line across one of your thumbnail sketches. your pursed your lips.

“what was that for?” you whisper yelled at hyunjin. he blinked at you and moved closer.

“myungho is looking at your sketchbook.” he whispered as you move your head towards the other male next to you. you and myungho held eye contact for a second when he went back to his own sketchbook. you shrugged your shoulders and went back to sketching.

“he probably wanted to see what i was doing? i don’t know man.” you said to hyunjin. hyunjin sighed snd continued doing his own thing. after an hour of brainstorming and researching, you finally settled on recreating millais’ ophelia. the beautiful death of ophelia and the liveliness of the flowers made you think that the piece would be perfect for your exhibition. you then got up from your station and walked over to the supply table, where your other station buddy was also at. he watched you as you wondered if you should use a flat canvas or a stretched canvas. you awkwardly stand beside him when suddenly he broke the silence.

“what medium are you going to use?” he asked you. you finally looked at myungho and smiled awkwardly.

“oh, uhm, i was thinking of using oils for my piece…” you said in a meek tone as he hummed. he then pointed to the stretched canvas you were holding.

“then i think you should use the stretched canvas. it’s perfect for oil painting.” he stated. you knew he was right, but you also knew that using a stretched canvas means that you have to readjust the canvas again. in three words, too much work, well, for you. you sighed.

“yeah, i think so too, but it’s just too much work, you know?” you complained to myungho as he chuckled. he grabbed the canvas off your hands and also grabbed another canvas, most likely for his piece.

“i’ll restretch it for you.” he said. you look up at him with wide eyes.

“really? i owe you my life man! thank you!” you said to him as you follow him to the mat table. he readjusted his canvas first as you watch him. you knew how to adjust and stretch canvases, it was just the amount of effort in it that makes you lose interest. he then proceded on to your canvas. he removed the staples from the wooden frame and removed the canvas fabric. he adjusted the fabric on the frame and hold on to it tightly. you were watching intently, not noticing that he raised his head to look at you.

“yn.” he called out your name. you looked back at myungho and just stared at him in confusion. he bit his lower lip and motioned his gaze to the canvas.

“can you let me know if this is good? i don’t know how stretched you want the canvas to be.” he said. you nodded your head, blushing from embarrassment, as you helped him. adjusting the frame and canvas fabric, he finally finished. he held your canvas to you as he smiled softly.

“here you go.” he said. you smiled at myungho.

“thank you, myungho! i really appreciate it a lot.” you said as myungho just walked back to his station and started sketching his piece on to his canvas. you also went back to your station and started sketching. during the whole class, you were able to finish half way blocking in the color on to your piece. during dismissal, hyunjin went up to you.

“you staying here at the studio, or back to the dorms?” he asked you. you mixed the colors on your glass palette as you replied to him.

“i’m staying here, i need to finish blocking in these shapes so it would be easier for me to add the deets during next class.” you said to him. hyunjin hummed and grabbed his canvas.

“okay, just let me know if you need anything. see you around.” he bid farewell as he walks out of the room. at this hour, there would still be a couple of students doing their pieces. right now, only you, myungho and a couple of students are in the room. you noticed myungho beside you organizing his station. he grabbed his canvas and bag and walked out of the room.

“huh, must be nice to be a good artist, not even worrying about the time.” you sighed to yourself as you continue with your art. as you were focused on your piece, you didn’t notice the talk frame behind you.

“woah! that looks so cool!” the person behind you said as you flinched in surprise. you looked behind you and sighed in relief.

“oh, it’s just you, mingyu.” you smiled at the tall male, who was holding two cups of coffee.

“i did tell you earlier i’m gonna visit you. anyways, how are you doing?” he asked as he placed one of the coffee cups on the table next to your easel. you thanked him for it and faced him.

“grab the stool over there and sit next to me, and i’m doing alright…uni is stressing me out.” you chuckled as he sits beside you. he looked at you with concern.

“oh, i get you. just don’t push yourself too hard, okay? i’ll always be here if you need help.” he said with a smile. you smiled at him as you take a sip of the coffee he gave you. sweet, you’ve always liked your coffee a little bit bitter though.

“thank you, gyu. you’re such a sweetheart.” you smiled as you two stare into each other’s eyes. he smiled back.

“oh, you flatter me, but i’ll always have your back.”

yes or no I x. minghao x reader - ophelia

𓇢𓆸 synopsis: where jaehyun is forced to be yn's wingman for mingyu, but unbeknownst to him, mingyu is also getting some help from his friend.

previous <- -> next | masterlist

𓇢𓆸 taglist (open!): @writingbarnes @90s-belladonna @leewonkyeom @to-mi-yo

52 notes · View notes

noonaishere · 1 year ago

Text

Music of the Heart [J.YH] - thirty-three | Crom3r

Hongjoong was going over the notes you made for the choreos and making notes on the songs files accordingly. Maddox was sitting next to him, observing and adding his own input.

You posted the trailer for an upcoming mashup yesterday and were currently scrolling the comments to see how everyone was feeling about it. It was the tiniest of little blurbs of a trailer, but your fans were already losing their minds. You smiled.

“We need a new name.” Maddox said.

You put your phone away. “A name?”

“A production name. We had one when--” Maddox stopped himself from saying the old member’s name, his eyes darting from Hongjoong and back to you “--our original third member was in the group. We should think of a new one.”

“Am… am I in the group already?”

“YES?” He shouted.

You laughed nervously. “Oh my god.”

“We need a new one.”

“Okay, I believe you. What was the old one? I forget.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Hongjoong said. “He made up the name and I’d rather not think about him right now.”

Maddox looked at him, a small frown on his face. “Fair. But… let’s you and me think of a new name, t/n.” He got up and joined you at the table and put his notebook down between the two of you so you could both write on it.

What proceeded was a two hour long brainstorming session where both of you were looking up names, looking up what they meant, writing them down in case they might sound good, trying to come up with something that involved all three of you, but still trying to pay tribute to the fact that Hongjoong had been at Wonderland the longest.

You leaned back in your chair and sighed. “We should give up and order food.”

“No! I think we can do it!” Maddox said, and patted your arm.

You sighed again.

Maddox looked at the scribbled notes on the paper. “Hongjoong… Hong…Hong-something?”

“You don’t have to put my name in it.”

Maddox waved him off. Hongjoong rolled his eyes and went back to what he was doing.

“Hong…. Hong…”

“Hong Kong.” You suggested flippantly.

He glared at you. “This is serious.”

You smiled. “Hongjoong, what chinese characters did your parents use for your name?”

“Uh… I think ‘Hong’ is ‘wide’ or ‘vast’ and ‘joong’ is ‘center’.”

You stared at him for a moment. “What’s the meaning they intended?”

“‘To be the center of the broad world.’ Why? What were you thinking?”

“I thought it was a sports position like ‘wide center’ or something.”

He thought for a second. “Isn’t that ‘wide receiver’?”

You waved him away. “I don’t know sports.”

He chuckled and looked back at the screen.

“Center of the world, huh?” You thought. “Like a… like the pin that holds a compass needle to the back.”

“That’s a nice metaphor.” He said, not turning.

“Like a… like a… an immovable point that always guides you to where you need to go. Like… a guiding star, like…”

“Star Productions.” Maddox said.

“Too simple. Like…” you thought hard for a few seconds. “...Polaris? Like it’s the pole star and you follow it to find your way, and then we could put a compass in the ‘O’ when it’s an image.”

Hongjoong chuckled. “That’s way too much about me.”

“Well… I got nothin’.”

The room was quiet for a few moments, you looking up at the ceiling and Maddox reviewing the scribbles.

Then Hongjoong spoke up: “What about ‘Cromer’?”

“Cromer?” Maddox said.

“What’s that?” You asked.

“Like an hourglass. It turns on a centerpoint - so you have that aspect you want - but the sand represents like… the lots of little experiences we each have. I’ve been here the longest and you’re brand new, Maddox is in the middle, so it has the time aspect.”

“Hmm… maybe.”

“And we can write it out with a ‘3’ as the ‘e’; so it’s three of us and we all make up ‘Crom3r.”

“Oh… I kind of like that,” Maddox said.

“See? This is why you’re the captain.” You said.

Hongjoong sighed at the nickname. “Well… at least that’s figured out.”

“Crom3r.” Maddox said. “I like it.”

“It’s just weird enough to warrant a meaningful explanation, but the 3 in the written version makes that part obvious at least.” You offered.

“Definitely better than just ‘Star Productions.’”

“Yeah, I’m sure someone’s been using that since like… the 80s or something.”

Maddox chuckled and wrote out ‘Crom3r’ onto the notebook, trying to figure out what kind of font might look best with it.

previous | main cast | masterlist | next

Send an ask or leave a comment if you want to be added to the tag list! 🎵

luvvvx • iamthehotdemon • hrts4hanniehae • rachs-words •

#Yunho #Jeong Yunho #Ateez #Ateez smau #Ateez fic #Ateez au #music industry au #enemies to lovers #childhood friends to lovers #reader fic #ᴍᴜsɪᴄ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ

11 notes · View notes

softone-ao3 · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter 3: Cracks in the Armor

The midday sunlight streamed through the towering windows of the Ministry conference room, casting a golden glow on the table where Hermione sat, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. She glanced at Draco Malfoy, who lounged in his chair as if they were here to discuss the latest office gossip rather than a life-or-death mission.

Harry stood at the head of the table, his expression grave. “Three days.” His voice broke the tense silence. “That’s how long you’ve got before we need you both undercover. The window to infiltrate this group is narrow, and we can’t afford to wait.”

Hermione straightened in her seat, her fingers twitching to take notes. “Three days? That’s hardly enough time to—”

“It’s what we have,” Harry interrupted, his tone clipped but apologetic. “The Minister wants results, and the intel suggests their next meeting is imminent. If we miss this, we might not get another chance.”

Malfoy tilted his head, his expression equal parts amused and disinterested. “I take it we’re not allowed to say no to this brilliant plan?”

“No,” Harry replied flatly, his gaze narrowing. “You’re not. And you both know why.”

Hermione’s jaw tightened, but she held her tongue. Malfoy, of course, didn’t.

“Well,” he drawled, glancing at Hermione, “I suppose Granger’s got her spreadsheets ready. Shouldn’t be too hard for her to conjure up a whole new personality, right? Something delightfully boring, no doubt.”

Before Hermione could snap back, Harry gave Malfoy a sharp look. "There is a reason the Minister decided to bring in Hermione as a second set of eyes and ears."

Malfoy tilted his head, his expression equal parts amused and disinterested. “Right. Because a mission like this needs two people instead of just the one who’s already been doing it.”

Harry’s gaze hardened. “Your cover is intact, Malfoy, but we need someone on the inside who isn’t… you.”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to smirk. But Malfoy caught the flicker of amusement on her face.

“Well,” he drawled, glancing at her, “if I’m stuck with a partner, at least it’s someone who’ll keep the paperwork organized. I’m sure Granger’s already got color-coded plans for every eventuality.”

She shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “At least I’ll be prepared, unlike you, who’ll probably just charm your way through and hope no one notices your total lack of substance.”

Draco smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction. “Charming people is a skill, Granger. Maybe I’ll give you a lesson or two—if you ask nicely.”

“Enough,” Harry cut in, raising a hand to silence them both. “You’ve got your assignments. Hermione, I need your undercover identity finalized and submitted for approval by six tonight. Malfoy, you’re assisting her with this.”

Hermione’s head snapped toward Harry. “What?”

Harry met her incredulous stare without flinching. “You heard me. He’s got more experience with deception than you do, and you’ll need all the help you can get.”

Malfoy’s smirk widened. “Finally, some recognition for my talents.”

Hermione groaned inwardly, already dreading the hours ahead.

*****

The office Harry had assigned them was cramped, with walls painted a drab shade of grey and a single desk barely large enough for two people. Hermione sat at one end, a quill in her hand, furiously scribbling notes in her journal. Malfoy, of course, was draped lazily across the only chair with a decent cushion, twirling his wand between his fingers.

“You’ve been staring at that page for twenty minutes, Granger. Surely you’ve come up with something by now.”

“I’m brainstorming,” Hermione snapped without looking up.

“Oh, I can see that. Very inspiring. The furious scribbling really screams ‘master of deception.’”

She slammed the quill down, spinning to face him. “Unlike you, Malfoy, I don’t rely on snide remarks and a trust fund to get through life. Some of us actually put in the effort.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you’re calling this? Effort? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re preparing for an interview at Flourish and Blotts, not infiltrating a group of criminals.”

Hermione clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to throw something at him. “You’re supposed to be helping me.”

“I am helping. I’m helping by pointing out that your current approach is rubbish.” He leaned forward, his tone softening slightly, though the smirk remained. “Look, this isn’t about being the cleverest witch in the room. It’s about being convincing. What kind of person do you think these people would trust?”

Hermione hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of her notebook. She hated to admit it, but he had a point.

“Well,” she said slowly, “My alias needs to have a rich backstory—where I grew up, my favorite dessert, maybe even a pet. I was thinking she’s from an academic family in Edinburgh—”

Malfoy groaned, cutting her off. “Merlin, Granger, you’re not writing a novel. Just pick a name and don’t talk about books for five minutes. It’ll be an improvement.”

She flushed, glaring daggers at him. “Would you like me to hex your mouth shut, or are you actually going to contribute something useful?”

Malfoy smirked. “I’d like to see you try, but let’s stay focused, shall we? They’re criminals, not Ravenclaws. They’re not looking for ‘intelligent’ or ‘resourceful.’ They’re looking for someone who fits in. Someone who can talk their way out of a tight spot without resorting to a textbook definition.”

Hermione’s cheeks burned, but she refused to let him see her falter. “Fine,” she said curtly. “What do you suggest, then?”

Malfoy’s smirk widened. “Let’s see… How about you try being someone a little less… Hermione Granger? Give them a reason to let their guard down. Start small, listen to the great master of deception in the room because he tires of repeating himself and give me a name.”

Hermione stared at him, contemplating to turn his stupid face green, and then looked down at her notebook. A name. That seemed easy enough. Except every suggestion that came to mind sounded ridiculous. She hated feeling this unprepared.

“Fine,” she muttered after a pause. “Call me… Eliza Carter.”

Malfoy snorted. “Eliza Carter? Sounds like someone who sells overpriced cauldrons on Diagon Alley. Try again.”

“Then what would you suggest?”

He tapped his chin thoughtfully, his expression far too smug for her liking. “Something simpler. Less posh. How about Eva Blake?”

Hermione frowned, turning the name over in her mind. It wasn’t bad, she had to admit. But she wasn’t about to let him win this easily. “Fine. Eva Blake. But if you mock me one more time—”

“Yes, you'll hex my mouth shut, I remember.” He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Please, Granger, as if you’d waste that level of effort on me.”

She exhaled sharply, muttering under her breath as she returned to her notes. “Three days,” she murmured. “We’ll see who’s laughing when this mission is over.”

From his chair, Malfoy’s soft chuckle lingered in the air. “Looking forward to it, Eva.”

*****

The briefing room was pleasantly quiet, save for the soft shuffle of parchment and the ticking of an old clock in the corner. Kingsley Shacklebolt sat at the head of the table, his broad shoulders filling the chair, his usual calm demeanor betraying no hint of the tension in the air. Hermione sat across from him, her hands gripping her spreadsheet paper so tightly that the edges curled. Malfoy stood beside her, leaning casually against the wall, his expression unreadable.

"Alright, Granger," Kingsley said, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. "Present your identity."

Hermione nodded stiffly, her throat dry. She had worked hard on this, and yet, now that the moment had come, she felt unprepared. She’d been given until 6 p.m. to present her identity—less than six hours—and though the identity was solid—she and Malfoy had devised it carefully—it still felt like she was about to walk into a lion’s den with nothing but her nerves to help her. They weren't being very helpful currently.

"Her name is Eva Blake," Hermione began, her words coming out a little too quickly. She cleared her throat, trying to steady herself. "She’s... a freelance consultant working in the darker corners of magical commerce. She’s... not well-known, but she’s... connected. She deals in rare and, uh, dangerous artifacts. People who don’t ask questions come to her for their needs."

Her mind raced as she tried to remember the rest of what she'd worked out with Malfoy. She felt like her mouth was moving faster than her brain. "She’s not one of them—she’s not a known sympathizer, but she’s known to work with Death Eater sympathizers. She’s not someone you’d notice, but if you need something dark, you know who to ask."

Kingsley’s eyes never left her face, and the weight of his gaze made her throat tighten. "And how does she operate? How does she survive?" he asked.

Hermione blinked, forcing herself to focus. She had to get this right. There was no turning back now.

"She’s adaptable. She’s... always moving between the cracks," Hermione continued. "She knows how to avoid being noticed, how to manipulate situations. She’s... cutthroat when she has to be. She’s been involved in shady dealings before, and she’s not afraid of... using violence if necessary."

Kingsley nodded slowly, clearly assessing the weight of her words. He gave a brief glance to Malfoy, then back to Hermione. "What does she have to gain from becoming a part of their organisation? And how do we know that ‘Eva Blake’ won’t blow our cover the moment she steps into the field?"

Before Hermione could respond, Malfoy’s voice cut in, his tone dismissive and dry. "With how uptight and nervous she sounds, she’ll blow our cover before we even make it out the door," he said, his eyes flicking to Hermione with thinly veiled annoyance.

Hermione’s jaw tightened. "Excuse me?" she snapped, giving him a sharp look.

Malfoy didn't smile, but it was clear he was unfazed by her outcry, amused, even. "You can’t go pretending to be Eva Blake with that much bloody uncertainty in your voice. People will smell the doubt from a mile away."

Hermione clenched her fists, but she held her ground. "If you're so high and mighty, how about you give me some actual pointers instead of spewing bloody mockery all day?" Oh, how she wished to strangle him in that moment.

Kingsley cleared his throat, interrupting before the argument could escalate further. "That’s enough," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Granger, you’ve given us the basics, but Malfoy’s right. You need to be more convincing." He glanced between them, his gaze lingering for a moment on the tension brewing between the two. "Get it right. You’ve got two more days until the mission starts."

Hermione nodded stiffly, swallowing her frustration. She could feel Malfoy’s eyes on her as she turned to leave, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting.

Once they were in the corridor, Hermione didn’t wait for him to catch up before she started walking. He had to jog to match her pace, a small satisfaction. Her thoughts were racing as she tried to focus. She wasn’t sure she could pull this off, but she didn't have a choice. She had to get convincing, fast.

After they turned a third corner, Malfoy glanced over at her, his expression unreadable, and broke the silence. "You’ve got a long way to go before you’re ready to walk into a room full of people who would kill you for a single slip-up, Granger," he said, his voice low but sharp. "You need to be Eva Blake. Not just her name, but her attitude. Her... everything."

Hermione clenched her jaw. He was right and she knew it, but she was far too annoyed with him to give him even an inch right now. "And I’m supposed to do that in a couple of days? Get real, Malfoy."

"Yes, that’s the plan," he said, not breaking stride. "You don’t have a choice."

Hermione felt a surge of irritation. "Don’t you dare tell me what I can or can’t do." She knew she was being nonsensical, but she couldn't stop her mouth from moving.

Malfoy didn’t flinch. "Well, I’m telling you now. If you don’t get it together, we’re both as good as dead."

She swallowed the retort she wanted to fire off. There were certain boundaries she wasn't angry enough to cross yet. She shot him a withering look instead.

Malfoy, in turn, quirked his eyebrow, but seemed to also consider his words. Hermione felt a small sense of relief at the thought of him shutting up for once, before he spoke again. She didn't suppress her eyeroll.

"Granger," Malfoy muttered, quickening his pace. "You need to practice. You’ve got two days to make yourself unrecognizable to anyone who isn’t a Death Eater."

"Thank you for stating the obvious, Malfoy," she retorted, but her voice lacked the bite she had had a few moments ago.

He used the opening she had given him with that. "Apologies, I wouldn't want to take over your job for you." She scowled at him.

Malfoy must have finally gotten tired of her half-run through the Ministry, as she suddenly got halted to a stop by his hand grabbing her by the elbow. She recoiled and immediately ripped her arm free from his grasp. "Don't touch me, Malfoy."

Malfoy raised both hands in mock surrender, his smirk faltering for just a moment. A flicker of something—surprise, maybe?—passed through his eyes at her sharp reaction. He recovered quickly, though, his usual air of indifference snapping back into place. "Relax, Granger," he said smoothly. "No need to get your knickers in a twist."

Hermione scowled, her pulse hammering in her ears. She didn’t trust herself to respond without snapping, so she stayed silent. This had escalated enough already. The last thing she needed was to lose control in front of Malfoy.

Unfazed, Malfoy filled the silence, his tone irritatingly light. "For someone so desperate to save the world, you’ve got a funny way of making allies." He crossed his arms, feigning a thoughtful expression. "But fine. No touching. Message received."

He stepped back, giving her space, though his gaze remained fixed on her. "Look," he said, his tone hardening again, "you’re not going to bluff your way through this mission with sheer indignation. You're not me. You need help."

Hermione let out a short laugh, entirely devoid of humor. "Help from you? You’ve got to be joking. All you've been doing is crack jokes. Unfunny ones, by the way."

His smirk returned, wider now. "Oh, of course. I find nothing more amusing than the prospect of getting killed because you can’t act your way out of a paper bag. The funniest thing to happen to me all year." He paused, his tone dropping. "This isn’t a joke, Granger. You need to pull it together."

Her fists clenched at her sides. "I’m working on it, Malfoy," she said through gritted teeth. "But forgive me if pretending to be someone who associates with Death Eaters isn’t second nature to me."

Malfoy’s eyes darkened, his voice turning colder. "You think it’s second nature to me?" he said, stepping closer. "You think I don’t have to fight every instinct telling me to get as far away from this as possible? This isn’t about what you’re comfortable with, Granger. It’s about what’s necessary. And right now, what’s necessary is you being convincing enough not to get us both killed."

The weight of his words hit her like a blow, leaving her breathless for a moment. Hermione forced herself to take a slow, deliberate breath. Her hands still trembled, but her voice was steady when she spoke. "Fine," she said, her tone clipped. "Then help me. But if you’re just going to keep acting like a prick, Malfoy, I swear—"

"Alright," he interrupted, his tone clipped. "Meet me tonight. Seven o’clock."

Her brow furrowed. "Where? Why?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. "The Leaky Cauldron. Public enough to keep things civil but private enough to work. You and I are going to practice."

Hermione stared at him, weighing her options. There weren’t many. She still hated the idea of relying on him, but he wasn’t wrong—she couldn’t afford to fail. "Fine," she said, more firmly this time. "But if you show up late—"

"You’ll what?" he interrupted, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Lecture me to death?"

Her glare could have melted steel. "Just be there on time," she snapped, turning sharply on her heel. She marched down the corridor, her footsteps echoing, determined not to let him get the last word.

Malfoy didn’t follow this time, but she could feel his gaze boring into her back. She refused to look back, not even once. Two days wasn’t long, but it would have to be enough. Failure wasn’t an option—not for her, not for this mission. And if it meant enduring Malfoy’s insufferable company to succeed, she would have to find a way to make it work.

*****

The cold bit at Hermione’s fingertips, and she shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat. A biting November wind howled through Diagon Alley, pulling at her hair and stinging her cheeks. She stood just outside The Leaky Cauldron’s entrance, glancing at her watch for the third time in as many minutes. It was seven o’clock on the dot, and Malfoy, surprisingly, wasn’t late.

Of course, he wasn’t early, either.

She spotted him the moment he turned the corner, his unmistakable silhouette moving with infuriating ease through the bustling street. His scarf was perfectly knotted, his coat tailored to fit him like a second skin. He exuded the kind of effortless poise that Hermione had long since decided was both natural and deeply irritating.

Malfoy’s eyes met hers as he approached, his lips curling into a smirk. "Waiting out here in the cold, Granger? Were you that eager to see me?"

Hermione’s scowl deepened. "You’re right on time, Malfoy. Barely. Shall we?" She turned sharply on her heel, pushing open the pub’s door without waiting for a response.

The warmth of the Leaky Cauldron enveloped her instantly, though it did little to ease her annoyance. The pub was alive with chatter and the clinking of mugs, a haze of pipe smoke curling near the ceiling. Hermione made a beeline for a corner table, far enough from the other patrons to allow for some privacy.

Malfoy followed, shedding his coat and scarf with an exaggerated flourish before draping them over the back of his chair. "Cozy little spot you’ve picked," he remarked, sliding into the seat across from her.

"I’m not here for coziness," she replied tersely. "Let’s just get this over with."

"Ah, there’s that charm you’re so famous for." He leaned back in his chair, his smirk firmly in place. "Alright, Granger. Lesson one: you need to stop looking like you’re about to hex someone every time you speak. It’s not the most convincing act for someone trying to blend in with Death Eater sympathizers."

Hermione crossed her arms, her posture rigid. "Maybe if you explained how I’m supposed to act, instead of just criticizing me, we’d make some progress."

Malfoy’s smirk widened, and he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It’s simple. Confidence, Granger. You’re playing the part of someone who believes they belong. Someone who doesn’t flinch at the idea of… unsavory company."

"I don’t flinch," she shot back defensively.

"Really?" He arched a brow. "Let’s test that theory."

Without warning, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers where they rested on the tabletop. She snatched her hand back as though burned, her eyes narrowing into a glare.

"Are you demented? I said don’t touch me quite literally an hour ago," she hissed, her voice low but venomous.

Malfoy regarded her for a moment, his gaze sharper now. "You’re going to have to do better than that," he said, his tone cooling. "If you freeze up every time someone gets too close, we’re both as good as dead. Let’s try again. Pretend I’m an old friend. Someone you trust."

Hermione let out a humorless laugh. "Trust? With you? I take it back, you are funny."

She could swear he saw real enjoyment flash across his features. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and she wondered if she had imagined it. "Not me, Granger. Your role. Remember? This isn’t about what you feel. It’s about what they see."

She hated that he was right. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to meet his gaze, willing her voice to remain steady. "Fine. What do I say, then?"

Malfoy leaned forward, his expression a mixture of mockery and challenge. "You start by looking like you’re happy to see me. Smile, Granger. You remember how to do that, don’t you?"

The glare she shot him could have melted steel. But she plastered on a stiff, unconvincing smile, her jaw tight.

"Terrifying," he drawled, his lips twitching with barely concealed amusement. "Let’s try not to scare anyone off, shall we?"

The back-and-forth continued, with Hermione stumbling over phrases and Malfoy’s constant interruptions doing little to help. But by the time their drinks arrived—two pints he’d ordered without asking—Hermione was at least managing a passable imitation of someone who didn’t loathe the man sitting across from her.

"Not bad," Malfoy admitted grudgingly, raising his glass in a mock toast. "For a fourth attempt."

Hermione ignored the jab and raised her glass stiffly, her fingers tightening around the cold, condensation-slick surface. "Let’s not celebrate mediocrity," she muttered before taking a small sip, wincing at the bitter taste.

Malfoy grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "And let’s not downplay progress, either. Baby steps, Granger."

She set her glass down with a clink and leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Fine. What’s next, then? Are we moving on to practicing secret handshakes or—Merlin forbid—how to deliver Death Eater small talk?"

Malfoy’s grin widened, and he tilted his head as if considering her suggestion. "Tempting, but no. We’re sticking to the basics for now. The next lesson is about body language."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Body language?"

"Yes. Your posture screams ‘head girl on patrol.’ Straight-backed, arms crossed, chin raised. It’s very… authoritarian." He took a deliberate sip of his drink. "And very obvious."

Hermione resisted the urge to cross her arms more tightly. "What’s wrong with good posture?"

"Nothing, if you’re lecturing first-years about cauldron safety. But we’re aiming for subtlety here. Relax, Granger. Lean back. Look at me like you’re enjoying this conversation."

Her eyes narrowed. "That’s asking a lot."

"And yet, here you are," he quipped, gesturing for her to follow his lead.

With a sigh that spoke volumes of her reluctance, Hermione leaned back in her chair, her shoulders stiff despite her best efforts. She forced herself to uncross her arms and rest them on the table instead.

"Better," Malfoy said, scrutinizing her with an almost unnerving intensity. "Now, soften the eyes a bit. You look like you’re planning my funeral."

"I might be," she muttered under her breath, earning a low chuckle from him.

"And relax your mouth," he added, ignoring her barb. "That tight little line is very… Hermione Granger. Not exactly what we’re going for."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead took a deep breath, forcing her jaw to unclench. She felt ridiculous, like a schoolgirl practicing for a drama production.

"Much better," Malfoy said after a moment, leaning forward again. "See? You’re a natural."

She gave him a withering look. "I’m not sure I want to be a natural at pretending to enjoy your company."

"Then consider it an act of self-preservation," he said smoothly. "Because if you can’t sell this out there, they’ll eat you alive."

The words sent a chill down her spine, and for a moment, Hermione’s annoyance gave way to something heavier—fear, perhaps, or the weight of the task ahead. She glanced away, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass.

"Granger," Malfoy said, his tone softer now, though still edged with his trademark drawl. "You’ll do fine. You just need to get out of your own head."

Her gaze snapped back to his, and for once, she didn’t have a quick retort. She hated to admit it, but there was something oddly reassuring about his confidence, even if it was laced with smugness.

"Are you always this insufferable when you’re teaching someone?" she asked after a moment, her voice lighter now, almost teasing.

He smirked. "Only when the student is particularly hopeless."

Hermione snorted despite herself, shaking her head. "Hopeless, my arse. Let’s see if you’re still laughing when I’ve mastered this and leave you in the dust."

For a fleeting moment, Malfoy’s expression shifted—surprise flickering in his eyes, followed by something softer, though she couldn't figure out what it was. He lifted his glass, the corner of his mouth twitching as though he were fighting back a genuine smile. "I’ll hold you to that."

This time, Hermione didn’t hesitate to clink hers against his. The sound was small but significant, a brief truce amidst their endless sparring.

As the night wore on, their conversation shifted, the tension between them loosening just slightly. They were still far from friends—miles apart, even—but in that dim corner of the Leaky Cauldron, they found a fragile rhythm.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

*****

The chill in the air nipped at Hermione’s skin, and she couldn’t help but shiver slightly. They had made their way deep into Knockturn Alley, past its twisted, crooked shops and the shadowy figures who seemed to blend with the darkness. It felt like stepping far away from civilization, and Hermione’s every instinct told her she should be elsewhere, anywhere but here.

“This was a bad idea,” she muttered, pulling her cloak tighter around herself.

Malfoy, walking effortlessly beside her, didn’t respond immediately. His eyes were trained on the alleyway, his posture relaxed but alert. "You're fine," he finally said, though his tone held the slightest hint of amusement. "Just follow my lead, and you won’t have to worry about anything."

Hermione glanced at him sharply. “Yeah, because that worked so well earlier.”

He shrugged. “One step at a time, Granger.”

They passed a dark storefront that seemed abandoned, the windows shuttered but with faint glimmers of movement inside. Hermione was just about to comment when a sudden commotion from a nearby alley caught her attention. She paused, squinting into the shadows.

A group of men stood around a cart, its contents spilling out onto the cobblestones in an unsettling display. There were crates filled with various items—some of them in wrapped parcels that seemed far too neatly organized for anything legal. One of the men was holding up what looked like a bundle of potions, shaking them as if inspecting the quality.

Hermione’s breath hitched. She knew those potions—black market wares, easy to get if you knew the right people, but illegal nonetheless.

“Malfoy,” she whispered, her voice tense. “Those are—those are restricted potions. And that’s not even counting whatever else is in those crates.” She looked at him, her heart pounding. “We can’t just stand here. We should—”

“Don’t.” Malfoy's voice was low, but there was an undeniable authority in it. He reached out, grabbing her wrist before she could step forward.

She shot him a glare, her frustration mounting. “What do you mean, ‘don’t’?” She shook his hand off. “Those are illegal! We should be doing something.”

Malfoy's eyes flicked to the group, sizing them up quickly. The men were distracted, clearly too wrapped up in their business to notice the two of them. “What we should do,” he said softly, his tone steely, “is nothing. Not yet.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because you don’t rush in without knowing who you’re dealing with.” He glanced over at her, his expression darkening. “That lot? They’re exactly who we’re here to learn about. Making a scene won’t help us.”

“But we can’t just—”

“I know,” he cut her off, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s hard to just let this go. But we’re not here to play the hero, Granger. We’re here to gather intel and help you fit in so you don't get killed in two days, not make them suspicious.”

Hermione clenched her jaw, torn between her instinct to step in and her growing understanding that this wasn’t as simple as she'd hoped. She watched, frustration clawing at her chest, as one of the men tossed a handful of Galleons onto the cart in exchange for one of the potions.

The two of them stayed hidden in the shadows, watching as the transaction unfolded. The men exchanged a few more words, all of them gruff, one of them handing over a black leather pouch that jingled with the unmistakable sound of coins.

Hermione’s fingers itched to step in, to make sure something was done about it, but Malfoy's calmness anchored her. For now, they observed. She took a steadying breath and focused on observing their mannerisms, their way of speaking whenever she caught words that were carried over the wind.

She was nothing if not adaptable, she told herself. She could almost hear Malfoy's snort in her head as a response. Even if he hadn't actually done anything irritating right now, she still shot a glare at the back of his head, just because.

As the group of men began to disperse, Malfoy turned to Hermione, his expression now serious. “You’ll get your chance, Granger. But tonight, we walk away with information, not heroism.”

Hermione gritted her teeth but nodded. The adrenaline of wanting to act was still there, but she had to admit, he was right. They couldn’t afford to blow their cover before the mission had even begun.

*****

As they stepped back into the bustling heart of Diagon Alley, the sudden change in atmosphere was almost jarring. The dark, oppressive weight of Knockturn Alley seemed to lift, replaced by the familiar sounds of chatter and clinking glass from nearby shops. It was a world where nothing too dangerous seemed to be going on, at least on the surface.

Hermione couldn’t help but exhale, the tension in her shoulders easing ever so slightly. The air here was lighter, more predictable. People milled about, shopping for their potion ingredients or discussing the latest magical gossip, oblivious to the undercurrent of danger Hermione could still feel.

"Well," she said, turning toward Draco with a raised eyebrow, "that was certainly an... eye-opening experience."

Malfoy's lips quirked as he glanced around, clearly more at ease now. "Were you hoping for something a bit more exciting?" he teased, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, I was hoping for a little less of that," she said, gesturing vaguely in the direction they’d just walked from. "I’m all for stopping dark magic, but sometimes I feel like I'm walking into a bloody hornet's nest."

He chuckled, the sound surprisingly genuine. "Yeah, well, that's sort of the point. You can't stop the hornets if you're too busy tiptoeing around their nest."

Hermione shot him a sidelong glance, her lips twitching. "And you know this from personal experience, do you? Should I be concerned?"

He looked at her, feigning innocence. "Only if you're afraid of getting stung."

She snorted, shaking her head. "You know, Malfoy, for someone who claims to be all relaxation all the time, you certainly have a way of talking like you’re the one leading this operation."

Malfoy grinned. "Someone’s got to take the reins around here, Granger. Besides, you’re not exactly a picture of calm and collected yourself."

Hermione crossed her arms, a challenge in her voice. "I am always calm and collected."

"Is that what you call that?" He gestured vaguely to her stiff posture and clenched jaw. "You were ready to hex someone back there."

She narrowed her eyes. "At least I don't look like I'm about to burst into a dramatic monologue at any given moment."

His smirk widened, though there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something like amusement?-Hermione was getting irritated at the amount of complex feelings she could see but not read on him.

"Touché. But if it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure I was just as ready to hex someone."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief in her expression. "You? Really?"

"Shocking, isn’t it?" Draco said with a mock sigh. "I may have a reputation for being calm and collected, but every now and then, even I want to throw a good hex in there."

"Merlin forbid," Hermione quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "We wouldn't want anyone to think you're not polished."

"Ah, but it's all part of my charm, Granger." He grinned, the smirk still tugging at his lips. "Polished enough to not be too intimidating at first glance, but menace enough inside to get to where I need to be."

He paused, another unreadable look in his eyes. "You know, you're tougher than you look. Maybe you will actually survive this."

Hermione’s expression softened slightly, though she kept her guard up. "I’m not sure that’s saying much, Malfoy. I’m pretty sure you just insulted me, but I’ll let it slide."

He chuckled again. "You know, Granger, I think I’m starting to understand why people find you so... intimidating."

She stopped walking, turning to face him fully, and raised a questioning eyebrow. "More insults coming my way?"

He put a hand to his heart and feigned offense. "I wouldn't dare."

Her lips twitched as she fought back a smile. For a moment, she allowed herself to relax, the tension between them fading slightly. Then, as if remembering herself, she stiffened, her gaze shifting away.

"I think I’ve had enough for tonight," Hermione muttered, her voice suddenly colder than before.

Malfoy paused, looking at her quizzically. "What, no witty retort?"

She shook her head, turning toward the direction of the nearest apparition point. "No. Goodnight, Malfoy."

He stared at her, a flicker of something again crossing his face, but he said nothing as she walked away.

#fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #harry potter #dramione #draco x hermione #auror hermione granger #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends to lovers #hurt/comfort #Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue/EWE #morally grey draco malfoy #everybody has issues #espionage #no beta we die like men

5 notes · View notes